


The Smallest Things

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Correspondence, Epistolary, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 27,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak writes to Bashir. Bashir writes to Garak. The letters, and the spaces in between.</p><p>This fic updates as life permits. Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story wraps itself around The Cure's "[Strange Attraction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TaPto89Wxxk)". If you like it, buy it [here](https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/wild-mood-swings/id300954542) or at your favourite music retailer!

_it started with a dedication:_  
 _“lost in admiration – happy birthday – i’m forever yours – blossom”_  
 _faded red inside a tiny book of butterflies_  
 _i smiled, surprised at how when flickered through, the wings flew by,_  
 _spelled out my name_

* * *

Julian Bashir sat and stared at his console.

_He remembered._

This morning he’d woken with a smile for the first time in... _mmm, about two weeks now._ He’d been due for it, really; after all, it was his birthday. Thirty-five and counting, which was fine, because being upset about being in one’s thirties was nonsense, really. He was completely over that. It was all in how one looked at it: birthdays just meant one was maturing, getting wiser. _Yeah, that’s it. And if you keep telling yourself that, perhaps one day you’ll stop minding the wrinkles._

He’d stretched and showered, deodorized and depilated, humming to himself. He’d replicated a raktajino and french toast – why not indulge? He could use some indulgence, quite frankly, and it was his birthday, after all! He’d settled himself at his console to flip through his morning messages, and had munched breakfast and sipped coffee as he clicked past report after report, yes, updated crew roster, fine, vaccinations due, all right...

And there it had been, last on the list, blinking at him:

**From: E. Garak – Sent: Stardate 53660.3 – Subject: Felicitations!**

Now here he was, blinking back.

_I can’t believe he remembered._

Garak always had remembered, of course, and had made a point of irritating Julian about it for at least a week prior to the happy event each year – but that was when they’d been on the station together, seeing each other almost every day. Now Garak was on Cardassia, light-years away, and this was a bit surprising.

 _Hasn’t he got anything better to do than to send me a birthday card?_ The man was rebuilding his homeworld, for God’s sake. Every now and then he’d send Julian a letter, friendly and short, containing just enough detail to be rather worrying, not enough to actually do anything about. Julian had kept his replies in the same vein: yes, life is good. Yes, the infirmary crew are still terrible gossips. Yes, Ezri sends her regards, _from wherever she’ll be, stop it, Julian_. And also, worked between the lines, _yes, I miss you._ That last detail, he felt, was best kept implied. Garak wasn’t stupid; he’d catch it.

 _I don’t even know when his birthday is!_ He suddenly felt rather guilty. Oh, well; he could perhaps make a joke of it, send a “very-belated” card or something, it didn’t matter. Meanwhile, he was curious as to what the message actually said. He tapped at the console, and the text scrolled on to the screen.

**My dear Doctor Bashir,**

**Congratulations on the occasion of your thirty-fifth birthday! I do hope you are celebrating! Please don’t allow your obsessive Human cultural preoccupation with youth to spoil this special time.**

_Thank you, Garak._

**I remember my thirty-fifth birthday well. I was on assignment. The details aren’t important, but suffice it to say it was a rather busy day. There really wasn’t time in the hustle and bustle to treat myself to anything particularly nice, and while this may seem like a minor thing to you, I felt the lack quite keenly. The thought of you potentially suffering the same fate – especially if you choose to ignore the day completely, as I fear you may – was simply intolerable to me, and so I’ve sent you something that I hope you will enjoy.**

Oh, dear, more Cardassian literature. He hadn’t read any Cardassian literature in... hmm, had to be almost a year now?

 _Really? A year?_ Where had the time gone?

**The book attached is one I have read several times. I am afraid it’s become something of an indulgence. I hesitated, at first, to recommend it to you. It is a rather more personal work than the others we’ve discussed, and I feared you might find it too sentimental. And then I thought to myself, well, if there is one thing Doctor Bashir seems to hold dear, it is sentimentality.**

_Ass._ He pulled a bit of a face at the console. Letters gave Garak an unfair advantage. At least when he and Garak had conversed face-to-face, he’d had the chance to snip back.

**I hope you will find time to read it soon, Doctor. The thought of you enjoying it as I have gives me comfort in these trying times. Our work proceeds apace, and Cardassia begins to shine again; still, there is much to do. One of us, at least, should have time to read. It isn’t me. I devoutly hope it is you.**

**Again, Doctor, I wish you a happy birthday, and look forward to hearing from you soon.**

**Your health,**

**Elim Garak**

_Ah..._

He blinked and smiled, absurdly pleased. _He remembered. And it's really him._ Garak sounded more like himself in this letter than he had in any of the missives Julian had received in the last year. Teasing and chatty, very slightly overwrought; yes, that was the Garak Julian had gotten to know. He’d looked for him in the previous letters and seen very little sign, and he’d worried...

Well, it seemed things were looking up, especially if Cardassia could even begin to be described as “shining”; the world he’d seen from the ship had been so badly damaged that he’d quietly wondered to himself whether he wouldn’t be assisting in a rescue/relocation mission soon. Cardassians, though; couldn’t put much past them, could you? They’d survive, they’d rebuild. They were too damned stiff-necked to do anything else. _Thank God they seem to want to play nice now. Who knows where it could lead?_ He felt an odd sense of displaced pride, and found himself smiling once again. _This is a nice way to start the morning._

And now he had something else to look forward to. Curious, he tapped at the message, downloading its attachment to a padd so that he could take it with him. He did have to get to the infirmary soon, but surely there was time to just have a quick peek at the book.

The title page bloomed before him, unfurling prettily on the padd’s little screen. Oh, God – a horrible moment when the title was in untranslated Cardassian – and then the letters shifted, moved, became little winged insects that rearranged themselves into the more familiar shapes of Fed Standard: The Movement of Wings. _Very funny, Garak._ And also rather cute; his smile was threatening to become a permanent fixture.

Ah, and there was an inscription attached! He tapped the screen, and the little box slid to the centre, expanded – oh, it was hand-written! Urgh, in Cardassian. Um, all right...

Well, there certainly wasn’t time to go and look it up. He would cheat. That was all right. Garak wasn’t here; he wouldn’t know.

He raised his voice. “Computer, please translate selection and annotate.”

A chirp of acknowledgement, a flurry of letters appearing on the screen, running along the cross-connections of the Cardassian phrases—

**Julian – When I remember the beauty of your mind, I am lost in admiration. Happy birthday, my dear. I am forever yours. – Elim**

He blinked. That couldn’t be right.

“Computer, please re-translate; this is inaccurate.”

Another chirp, and then that slightly censorious whir that signalled the computer’s cool disapproval. “Current translation is valid.”

No, that wasn’t possible. But what could it... God, he wasn’t a communications officer, this wasn’t his field – “Computer, is it possible that the verbal intonation of this message could differ from the written translation?”

Again the little whir. “Negative.”

_What?_

He sank his head into his hands and stared through his fingers.

Could it be... was he just completely misreading this? Was this yet another Cardassian custom he’d not known about? Did Cardassians often write to their friends this way? Perhaps that was it, _yes, must be, ha_ , he seized upon the notion. They did love language, they were often a bit effusive; this was just another game.

But... _Forever yours?_

A phrase. _Just_ a phrase, yes, that was Garak: delighting in language, playing with words, and dramatic to a fault. _Laughing at me again, as always._ He just wasn’t quite catching the laughter in the tone because this was written instead of spoken, that was all. And that was more than enough strangeness for one morning; he had to get going if he was to make it to the infirmary in time for his shift, and so he pushed back from his console, slipped on his shoes, headed for the door—

And hesitated, stopped, turned, grabbed the padd.

_Perhaps I can just get started on it at lunch..._


	2. Chapter 2

The bustle of the Replimat surrounded him: the buzz of voices rising and falling, the clang of feet on the Promenade deck, the occasional shimmering hum of the replicators providing whatever delicacy they’d been asked for. It was a bit loud, not ideal for a relaxing lunch.

Didn’t matter. He wasn’t there. He was on Cardassia, in a garden, where hiTh’mit buzzed and the sun was warm, and Tozen was finally finding his peace, finally forgetting about Siv’rie and her beautiful mind.

God, the phrase kept coming up, _beautiful mind, beautiful mind,_ whenever Tozen heard Siv’rie speaking, whenever he ran across an example of her mathematics in his work, whenever he wrote to her, he could be counted on to toss the phrase out. It would be really rather irritating if it wasn’t so heart-wrenching.

He’d never understand Cardassians. How could they be such arrogant, proud-minded people, so stubborn and hard to take and downright _dangerous,_ and then turn around and write these delicately-worded books that slipped into his heart and wouldn’t come out? He still had dreams about  Meditations on a Crimson Shadow, still sometimes found himself laughing at the last scene of Fate is for Fools, and now he was apparently going to come over completely maudlin in a public place because of a love story.

Because that was what Garak had sent him, wasn’t it: this was a love story, plain and simple, with no hidden message that he could detect, no wry sarcasm at the State of Things, no subliminal lecture on How to Live, just...

_Just a man in love with someone he can never have._

Oh, God. This really wasn’t what he’d hoped the book would be about. He’d hoped for something light and funny, something that he’d see flashes of Garak in, something that he could laugh over and write back about. _Something I could talk to him about._

_I’m not at all sure I can talk to him about this._

Was he missing something? There were always layers with Garak. _Perhaps it’s all an analogy?_ God, was he entirely missing the point?

It just wasn’t anything like the books Garak had lent him before. _Feelings? Do Cardassians really write about feelings?_

Well, unusual for the species the book might be, but one thing about it seemed very, very Cardassian: Tozen spent the entire thing busy with his work, with his Duty, calculating the migration of the hiTh’mit, focussing on minutiae, and did not allow himself to be distracted with love. At least, that appeared to be what the man told himself. Meanwhile, every spare moment was spent dreaming of Siv’rie in her office, Siv’rie at lectures, Siv’rie sitting next to him, pretty finger tracing a curve on a graph as inside his heart Tozen felt the movement of wings—

 _Is self-denial some kind of Cardassian ideal?_ It seemed to come up again and again: duty to the State, loyalty to the Home, and over all the Union. Precious little room for love in there, it seemed. _Do as the State requires. Enjoin with whom the Home demands. Give your life to the Union, and the Union will give life to you._

And what did one do when what one wanted was not described within these boundaries?

Apparently, one dreamed.

His lunch was running rather long, now; he’d been due back for a bit, but he just couldn’t put the book down – surely there was time for just a few more pages – and so he rested his chin in his hand and read, as Tozen let the hiTh’mit land on his shoulders, his ears, his hair, as he smiled at their buzzing wings, closed his eyes. _“You are my family,”_ he whispered, _“I need nothing more.”_

He toggled for the next page, and there wasn’t one.

 _Wait – that’s it? That’s_ all?

Total self-denial? Longing for love submerged in the passion for work? The best way to handle quiet infatuation was to _leave?_

 _Maddening!_ Where was the joy, the embrace, the – twenty pages ago Siv’rie had looked at Tozen and he’d seen a flash of something in her second tongue, a shift from simple happiness to _pleasure,_ and he’d smiled and then the scene had ended – and now _this?_

Oh, he really didn’t need this, he really didn’t need any of this at all. What a birthday present. What a tangled mess. The padd hit the table with a clatter.

“Whoa, Julian... are you okay?”

Oh, and this was even more complicated, and for a moment his eyes squeezed shut.

“Sorry, Ezri. Yes, I’m fine, I’m just...” He gestured at the padd. “A little lost in my book, I suppose. Sorry.”

She angled her head, looked down at him. “What’re you reading?”

“Um, it’s a...” _How do I...?_ “It’s not... I didn’t choose it, it’s... It was a gift.” He stuttered to a stop.

“Doesn’t seem like it was a very good present.”

“It’s fine. It’s just... It’s fine. Look, I’ve – I’m late, I’ve got to get back to the infirmary.” He pushed back from the table, stood, snatched up the padd and the remnants of his lunch and strode past her, smiling as politely as he could under the circumstances—

Well, tried to, anyway; a small hand planted itself in the centre of his chest and stopped him as cold as if he’d tried to walk through a forcefield.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Julian.”

He pressed his lips together, looked away. “I don’t have to, do I? Just for another... oh, two weeks?”

“Julian...” She sighed, ducked sideways and into his view. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the infirmary, all right?”

Trapped. No way out of this one except by being incredibly rude. Which, to be fair, he was verging on as it was; _grow up, Julian._ He exhaled, nodded.

He slid his tray into a replicator as they left the Replimat, and tapped his padd nervously against his other hand as they walked. It seemed important to make _some_ kind of noise; God knew he didn’t seem to have any words available.

Finally, Ezri broke the silence. “I’m sorry that it had to work out this way.”

Oh, that was no good. “No, don’t be sorry; look, I’m being an idiot, _I’m_ sorry. God, this is your big chance, Ezri – a posting on the _Bujold_? It’s a huge opportunity, it’s fantastic, it’s—”

“—going to take me to the other side of the quadrant.”

The statement hung there between them as they walked, and here was that silence again. It didn’t feel right; it didn’t feel like _them._ Here he was and here she was, and this was silly, wasn’t it?

“You know, it’s not really that far... at warp nine, it’d only take five weeks or so to get here from your patrol route.” He tried to keep his tone light.

It won him a smile, a crinkling of eyes. “You’re sweet, Julian.”

Ah, yes. Being patronized. His favourite thing. “Thank you, Dax.”

Her mouth tilted. “Sorry.”

He shrugged it off, smiled back at her. “But we could give it a try, couldn’t we?”

Now her smile was sad. “We could. But it wouldn’t work. I know. I’ve tried. Over and over again.”

“But never with me...” Not fair, to trot out past lives as evidence when one hadn’t yet lived this one.

She walked beside him, small and strong. “I’m sorry, Julian. Long distance relationships just don’t work. It’s too hard.” She looked up at him. “We’d only see each other twice a year at best.”

“But we could make those visits memorable... And who knows, I might end up posted nearby, right? You don’t know for sure...”

He trailed off under the sympathy of her eyes.

“I don’t know for sure. But I know enough.” She reached out, took his hand. “Let’s just be friends, all right? Let’s be happy for what we have, so that we won’t end up resenting each other for what we don’t.”

It hurt. It had hurt for two weeks, and it was going to hurt for a long time yet, but—

“All right, Ezri.” He squeezed her hand, cool in his own. “Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

She looked up at him, smiling, and he smiled back, and this was not going to go down in history as the best birthday he’d ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days later, he still hadn’t decided what to do about the book.

The letter was easy: playful, friendly, teasing. He could dash off twelve different responses without thinking about it.

But that book, its inscription... _What do I say? Do I say anything?_

God, maybe it was just his current mild loneliness that was making Garak’s words look so... affectionate. _I’m too stung to think straight._ What if he was wrong? It would be so humiliating to reach out, to write something back, something tentative and self-abashed, and to have his next letter from Garak be full of cool correction – or worse, kindness – or, worst of all, for the letters to stop altogether.

Most confusing of all: _is this even something I want to acknowledge?_

Let it be what it looked like, at least for a moment; let it be a declaration of some kind of emotion beyond simple friendship. God, that was a strange thought, but all right, then: if he replied to it, he was letting Garak know that he’d seen it, that he’d understood, and then there’d have to be something more, wouldn’t there, some kind of yes/no/maybe—

 _I have no idea where I stand!_ Which was strange enough, wasn’t it; God, years he’d known the man, years he’d sat across from him at a Replimat table and chatted about everything under the sun. They’d been imprisoned together, they’d fought wars together – but no hint of anything more, at least nothing Julian had ever caught. _So_ _was he trying? Did I just not see? Would I have wanted to see? Do I want to see_ now?

This was ridiculous. Here he was in his quarters, cross-legged on his bed, staring at his PADD with pursed lips and stylus at the ready, and he had no idea what to say. _Me, speechless. Garak would have a field day._ It wasn’t as if the man stood across from him, demanding an answer; his response would flit through subspace just as Garak’s message had, arriving in its own time, impersonal and undemanding.

So he could keep it simple for now, not overthink things – God, he certainly wasn’t in any kind of place to deal with romantic interest now, was he? _Far too tender at the moment, thanks._ Too soon after Ezri, much too soon, and so this was easy: answer the letter, ignore the inscription.

He bit the stylus for a moment, thinking, then began:

**From: J. Bashir – Sent: Stardate 53666.8 – Subject: Thank you!**

**Dear Garak,**

God, he was second-guessing himself already. Too informal? _No, because it’s what I always say._ Leave it.

**Thank you so much for your message! I was pleasantly surprised that you remembered my birthday, given how busy you must be. It was kind of you to think of me.**

**Please rest assured that I did, indeed, celebrate my birthday; the infirmary staff had a cake for me – chocolate, if you’re wondering – and later on I had drinks with everyone at Quark’s. I drank far too much, lost my shirt at dabo, and had an altogether wonderful time. Thirty-five looks all right so far; never mind cultural preoccupations. Besides, “age is time’s gift,” isn’t that what Temer Us’ant said? And you seem to think she’s right about everything else, so I suppose I’d best take this as a given too.**

Right, that was a good tone so far. Now he had to say something about his gift.

_Um..._

**Thank you very much for your gift. The Movement of Wings is certainly very different from any other book you’ve ever lent me. I don’t know if I’d describe it so much as sentimental. “Romantic” seems a better te**

No, hold on, he couldn’t write that. Scratch it out and start again.

**Thank you very much for your gift. The Movement of Wings was a lovely read. Poor old Tozen, eh? Ah, well, I suppose he knew what was best for**

No, not that either.

**Thank you very much for your gift. The Movement of Wings is an interesting book. I liked the story very much.**

_Aargh._ He buried his face in his hand.

He couldn’t... just not say anything about the book at all, could he? No, that would be rude. But he couldn’t discuss it properly either, not this way, and it just seemed as if anything he said might be insulting or superficial or... or _something_ that would disappoint Garak. God, how was he supposed to read the man’s mind across, mmm, 6.7-odd light years?

_Well, I could always just ask what he thinks..._

**Thank you very much for your gift. The Movement of Wings was a fascinating read – touching and sweet and, you’re right, rather sentimental. And, as you no doubt expected, I enjoyed it. I do admit, though, that it doesn’t strike me as your usual fare. Why has it become a personal indulgence?**

Flat-out and bold. Well, either it’d be ignored, or he’d get an answer. Probably a lie. That was all right; even Garak’s lies could tell you something if you knew how to listen.

**I can’t find words to say how glad I am that your work is bearing fruit. Cardassia deserves a second chance, and thanks to your efforts (and everyone else’s, of course), it sounds like it’s going to get one. It’s a shame that you don’t have time to read, but I hope that my little missive gives you at least a moment’s respite.**

Too cute? He frowned for a moment, then left it in.

**Life on the station continues as per usual. All the regulars say “hello.” Ezri**

_Ouch,_ and he was briefly brought up short. Should he mention the reposting? Hard not to; he always put in something about Ezri, and if he didn’t, it would be wildly obvious that something was wrong...

 _I just don’t know what I can say, right now._ It was too fresh, and no one’s fault, and he felt awful about it, and awful for feeling awful, and—

**Life on the station continues as per usual. All the regulars say “hello.” Ezri has had some exciting news: she has been reposted to the _U. S. S. Bujold,_ heading off to survey new territory on the far side of the quadrant! This is exactly the kind of posting she was hoping for, on exactly the right kind of ship, and it will definitely move her further along the command track. Perhaps she’ll captain some lucky crew one day soon! We’re all very happy for her.**

There. Very mature. Hopefully not too transparent. He pursed his lips, finished off:

**Looking forward to your next letter. Take care of yourself.**

**Sincerely,**

**Julian Bashir**

All right. That was fine. He could send it off with every confidence of a positive reception on the other end, and could breathe easy; there’d be no chance of miscommunications, of overstepping his boundaries—

He closed his eyes.

**PS: If we’re going to talk about beautiful minds, perhaps we should begin by discussing yours, don’t you think? – JB**

Stupid, stupid, obvious, he was going to regret this—

He sent it.


	4. Chapter 4

_six months went by, the summer lost_   
_obsessively, the letters dropped into my life_   
_the same soft blood-smooth flowing hand:_   
_“please try to understand: i have to see you, have to feel you,_   
_tell you all the ways i need you – yours forever in love”_

* * *

**From: E. Garak – Sent: Stardate 53771.5 – Subject: Age, maturity, and growth**

**My dear Doctor Bashir,**

**I am very glad to hear that you’ve matured sufficiently to appreciate both the gifts of aging, and the work of Temer Us’ant. I recall your finding both much harder to appreciate a few years ago. How pleasant to see that the intervening years of war and hardship have had a purpose, after all. Perhaps there is a silver lining in every cloud.**

**You may be interested to hear that some success has been achieved with the fertilization methods proposed by Ehk Murrin several months ago. (I touched on them only briefly, I believe; I admit that, although I do enjoy a good conversation about gardening, large-scale agriculture has never been my passion.) It’s really quite striking to see the frosting of green over the Alik dunes! The new challenge will be to actually grow something worthwhile there; mertgan is pleasant on the feet, but nutritionally rather lacking, and at present we have far more need for food than we do parks. Still – promising, don’t you think?**

**Please pass along my congratulations to Lieutenant Dax! She is certainly a sterling officer; it’s a pleasure to hear that her talents are being recognized. Depending on how one looks at it, she’ll soon be either the youngest captain in the fleet, or the oldest. Won’t it be interesting to see how her career proceeds? A pity it will take her so far from you; long-distance relationships are difficult. I've had little success in that regard. I hope the two of you will make out better than most!**

**I am absolutely delighted to hear that you enjoyed The Movement of Wings! Isn’t it wonderful? Regarding why it’s become an indulgence for me, well, perhaps “indulgence” wasn’t exactly the right word. It’s really more of a cautionary tale, worth re-reading from time to time when one is tempted to do something foolish. I think Tozen made exactly the right decision. He and Siv’rie were simply not well matched, and one must accept reality in these situations, rather than wasting one’s time with dreams of what one might prefer. I would, of course, be fascinated to hear your opinion on the topic.**

**Please write soon; I take such pleasure in your letters.**

**Your health,**

**Elim Garak**

And attached, hand-written on an image of sandy, rolling hills that were misted with small sprouts:

**Julian – Please try to understand that I meant nothing untoward by the post-script to my previous letter. The compliment is, however, a very honest one, and it is very kind of you to return it. — Elim**


	5. Chapter 5

**From: J. Bashir** **–** **Sent: Stardate 53822.5** **–** **Subject: My opinion**

**Dear Garak,**

**I’m delighted to hear of the successes you’re having with the replanting efforts! It would be tremendous for Cardassia Prime to be able to supply more of its own population’s food supply, wouldn’t it? Much less of a strain on the Union, much less need to control the colony worlds – it would be better for everyone, really. Now that the war is over and the military is in such rough shape, I think it would be very smart of your government to focus on more peaceful initiatives. It's about time, really. And it might do wonders for the tourism trade. Think of it: “Cardassia Prime, breadbasket of the M8 sector!” If that isn’t catchy, what is?**

**Now, if you haven’t deleted this incredibly impertinent letter already, I may as well continue on in the same vein: I think you are completely wrong about Tozen. And I wager you knew I’d say that. The man gave up. He simply gave up. God, one can hardly dignify what he did with the moniker of “giving up” – he barely even tried! By page 173, the object of one’s desire should have some idea of how one feels, shouldn’t they? But here he is, giving her Significant Looks and all but singing love songs in second tongue, and then the moment she reciprocates – the moment she really looks at him – he backs off! He hides! I don’t mind telling you I just about tossed the padd across the room. And you honestly think this was the best thing for them? I certainly look forward to hearing why!**

**I’ve passed on your congratulations to Ezri; they’ll get to her in approximately three weeks. I’ve never been anywhere near the sectors she’ll be patrolling – they’re so far off! She’s bound to have all kinds of thrilling experiences, don’t you think? Perhaps she’ll send us souvenirs! (Tongue firmly in cheek, if you can’t tell. Well, mostly.) I should probably tell you, too, that she and I broke things off when she was reposted. She seems to feel, much as you do, that long-distance relationships are too difficult to maintain. I suppose she’s right. She’s the one with the life experience, after all. We’re still friends, and I’m glad of it; she’ll always be very important to me.**

**Things roll along well here. We’re breaking in a new physician, one M’rtk’xc by name (and if you think reading it is hard, you should try saying it). He’s the first Hamalki I’ve ever worked with, and it’s really rather fascinating to see him ambling down the Promenade, jangling prettily as he goes. He specializes in humanoid medicine. He says we’re put together so very badly it’s a wonder we function at all. To be honest, some days I agree, although I’m not about to say so to a glass arachnid; it would feel a bit like letting down the team.**

**Hoping to hear from you soon,**

**Julian Bashir**

As a post-script, scrawled on a postcard that blared VISIT HAMALK in letters of bright orange, charmingly decorated with a border of tiny dancing glass spiders:

**PS: Forgive my handwriting; I’m not used to actually writing on anything but a padd, but it seemed apt. Isn’t this the ugliest card you’ve ever seen? M’rtk’xc gives them out! He wants to encourage humanoid tourism, he says! Anyway, look: I have the oddest feeling you’re not being honest with me. Strange, isn’t it? Can’t imagine how I’ve come up with it, but Garak, you think through everything you do three times before you do it, including the writing of curiously affectionate postscripts—so why are you now backing off? Because, to be completely honest, I’ve been thinking of little else but your first letter for a month now, and I’m inclined to believe that a further discussion of beautiful minds might prove fruitful. Perhaps almost as fruitful as the Alik Dunes? – JB**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hamalki are courtesy of Diane Duane, and I will never, ever be done thanking her for them. My faves!


	6. Chapter 6

**From: E. Garak** **–** **Sent: Stardate 53901.2** **–** **Subject: Hunger and small things**

**My dear Doctor Bashir,**

**First, let me express my condolences on the ending of your relationship with Ezri Dax. The two of you did make a very attractive pair. She is, I fear, very wise, and you've done well to heed her advice. That said, these things are never easy. I hope you are well.**

**You will be pleased to hear that the dunes are coming along very well indeed (although, sadly, no one has been convinced to adopt your slogan). There has been limited success with a specially-designed fast-growing crop of bet’to (a fat purple root; we make bread out of it, among other things). One can live on bet’to for quite some time. One may not wish to, but one can.**

**If the Alik Dunes can be convinced to yield food, then almost any soil can, and that gives me hope. This is a very important step towards relieving some of the hunger that is so sadly widespread, and that, in its turn, will be of great help in the rebuilding of Cardassia Prime as she should be. Who, after all, can focus on restoring a building when their stomach is empty? I am fortunate: here in the capital, where our efforts have been most concentrated, we have power from time to time, and limited replicator access. Now, if only I could get the ear of one of our clever new leaders, to convince them that we should disseminate some of the replicators out across the countryside, where they are needed far more urgently—**

**But I digress. No doubt you are far more curious about my opinion on The Movement of Wings than you are about the mundane details of Cardassian government. I am, sadly, not at all surprised at your opinion on Tozen’s choice; my dear Doctor, your Human sentimentality colours everything you do. Try to look at the situation from a Cardassian perspective. If Tozen were to offer himself to Siv’rie, what would happen? She is of a much higher social stratum. She is employed by the Triune Ministry’s research division; he is an aide at Hec University. Her family name is well-known. His is respectable, but nothing more. She has ambition; he can afford none. Tozen spared them both great embarrassment by controlling himself, for she would undoubtedly have refused him. She would have been foolish not to, and Siv’rie’s beautiful mind would certainly not permit that kind of foolishness.**

**Perhaps I should send you something else to read, something more practical. We’ve managed to retrieve many of the works thought lost when the Central Library was destroyed. Astoundingly, the building’s collapse created a sort of shelter that protected many of the books within from the fire and smoke that ruined so much else. The team assigned to the Library was jubilant. As, I must admit, was I. It’s rather amusing how important mundane things can become in this strange situation; one of the books rescued was a recipe book, dating from two centuries ago, and I confess I have become fond of it. The author delights so very much in small things. In fact, I believe you and she would have seen very much eye-to-eye.**

**And now, I fear, I must draw this letter to a close. Night is falling, and the power will soon be cut. Do write soon, Doctor; I really cannot express how much I enjoy hearing from you.**

**Your health,**

**Elim Garak**

And this time, on a scan of an ancient textured-paper card, hand-printed in neat Cardassian and embellished with a loving illustration of a round beet-like root, all faded with age:

**Julian – Your handwriting is atrocious. Really, my dear, if we are to communicate this way, you’ll have to put a little more effort into it. It would be so much easier if I could see your face. I’d know how to assess you, then. I’d know better how to make you smile or frown. As we stand, I must simply guess at what you are thinking – for certainly you know better by now than to reveal your true thoughts to me. Re: the card – this recipe is for a bet’to salad, described rapturously as “worthy of the house of a Great Gul.” It made me laugh, and I thought of you – such zealousness! Such enthusiasm! Charming. Sadly, the salad did not live up to its description. – Elim**

 


	7. Chapter 7

**From: J. Bashir** **–** **Sent: Stardate 53999.2** **–** **Subject: Don’t you dare be practical**

**Dear Garak,**

**There’s an Earth vegetable called a beet that looks very much like a bet’to. Do you suppose it might be an example of convergent evolution? How thrilling! Perhaps I should write a paper – no, on second thought, perhaps I’ll leave it to Keiko. I will let her know about it, though. I wonder what Captain Sisko could have done with bet’to root?**

**Still no sign of him, by the way. Jake and Kasidy are living full-time on Bajor, now, and it’s difficult to find time to get down to see them. However, the last time I was down-planet, I had the privilege of performing a physical exam on Miss Rebecca Jae Sisko. I am pleased to inform you that she has her father’s smile. Hopefully he’ll be able to see it himself one day.**

**Well, now I’m being a bit maudlin. No excuse for that. Life is good. I’m very busy! I have two conferences to attend in the next month, and I’m presenting a paper at one of them: _Comparison of the Human CYP3A4 Enzyme and the Bajoran Que’chorra Disassembler Protein._ Doesn’t that sound fascinating? Aren’t you sorry you’ll miss it? It’s really too bad you aren’t closer to the station, you know; if you could make it over for a visit, I could explain it all to you in person and watch your eyes glaze over. **

**Speaking of things I’d like to explain in person (Julian Bashir, master of the segue!), I would certainly like the chance to tell you that Tozen is a self-indulgent idiot. “She would undoubtedly have refused him,” indeed. How can he know that? He _never asked._ Perhaps Siv’rie would have liked to have some input on the decision. Perhaps she liked Tozen just as he liked her – or perhaps she simply hadn’t thought of him in that way, but would have been open to exploring the idea. But we’ll never know, will we? And Siv’rie will never know either, and in a way I feel sorrier for her than I do for Tozen. He got to choose. She never had an option. Honestly, I’m rather irritated with the man, and am beginning to feel the same about you. Don’t you dare send me anything “practical” until we’ve thoroughly picked this book apart, all right? Because you’ve got to be able to do better than that.**

**Closing on a less irascible note, Ezri sent me a letter the other day. She’s doing well on the _Bujold_ – she’s made some friends, and it turns out that one of her previous hosts – Emony, I think? – was actually friends with the great-grandfather of the first officer. It must be nice being a joined Trill; one always has a connection. Also, she asked me to tell you to write if I happened to hear from you. I wasn’t aware you two kept in touch. How do you find time to manage all your mail?**

**Oh, and by the way: very-nearly-happy-New-Year!**

**Sincerely,**

**Julian Bashir**

Attached, on a diagram labelled _Bajoran Que’chorra Disassembler Protein, View 5:_

**PS – Pretty, isn’t it? Such an efficient little thing, too; chomps through aldehydes like nobody’s business. I think you rather like my handwriting, Garak. And my zeal, and my enthusiasm. And I very much like the idea of me keeping you guessing for a change. I’ll be very mysterious from now on, I promise. Perhaps I’ll hint darkly at how interesting your letters are, and how much I like to get them. Or I may allude subtly to how much I miss seeing you every day, and how I didn’t actually realize how much I missed it until I really thought about it, and how I now can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I might even write—in invisible ink, perhaps?—that day by day hearing from you is becoming more and more important to me, to the point that I check my messages each morning first thing, hoping that one will be from you. Who knows what I might say? Who knows if any of it’s true? Perhaps none of it, perhaps all of it! God, I feel a bit drunk with power. — JB**

 


	8. Chapter 8

**From: E. Garak** **–** **Sent: Stardate 54006.9** **–** **Subject: Distance between worlds**

**My dear Doctor Bashir,**

**It may be a new year by your standards, but I assure you that here things go on much the same as they have always done. Still, one should never turn down a chance to celebrate. Perhaps I'll scrounge up some bet'esk and toast the bright future which no doubt awaits us.**

**I am pleased to hear that Captain Sisko’s family is doing well. It is always difficult when the family circle is disrupted, but I’m certain that Ms. Yates carries out her duties to the Home with considerable style even in the captain’s absence. I’ve always liked her. She doesn’t let the rules get in the way of getting the job done. I hope this is still the case.**

**That is, indeed, a very pretty protein. I wonder if a similar pattern would work well as an embroidered motif? Re: explaining your paper, as much as I’d enjoy your boring me to tears in person, I don’t foresee time away from Cardassia at any time in the near future. There is so much to do. I’m sure you understand. I do appreciate your continued communication, however; it takes me away from my situation for just enough time to make it bearable. It’s astounding how a few quiet moments with a padd can make everything else fade away.**

**That is, in fact, one of the reasons I so very much enjoy The Movement of Wings. It is such a pleasant fantasy. It’s so well written, so well described; in the last scene, can you not see the k’selses blooming? Can you not hear the zUt in the bushes and the hiTh’mit’s hum? When I read it on DS9, it took me home for an hour or two; when I read it now, it takes me to home as it used to be. It is important, however, to realize that it is only a fantasy. The situation described within could never be real and should not be taken seriously. A person like Tozen would never allow himself to develop feelings for a person like Siv’rie. Someone with any clarity of mind would notice the potential for trouble in the situation and cut himself off before his emotions got the better of him. After all, the two of them are from completely different worlds. Those two worlds could never truly meet – not and satisfy both parties. I’m sorry if you find this irritating, Doctor; reality is often inconvenient.**

**I have indeed been keeping in touch with Lt. Dax. She had asked me to keep a symptom diary for a few weeks after my little episode, and the two of us fell into the habit of conversing when I’d drop it off for her attention. Once the diary was deemed unnecessary, I suppose we both simply enjoyed the conversation. Truthfully, I find her perspective refreshing. She sees things I sometimes don’t. Other things she sees in ways I would not consider. She is both much younger than I am and much, much older; it’s a compelling mixture. She keeps me abreast of the important changes in her life, and I do the same for her. A connection is always a useful thing. One never knows when it might be helpful to have a friend or two in Starfleet. It’s worthwhile to keep the lines of communication open with such people, don’t you think?**

**I do owe Lt. Dax more than one letter. Things here have been so very busy, but it isn't polite to neglect one's obligations. Perhaps I’ll turn my attention to the matter now. I thank you for your reminder, Doctor, and for remembering to pass it on to me. It’s quite unusual—and pleasant—to have someone looking out for me.**

**Your health,**

**Elim Garak**

This time, on an image of a hand-worked embroidery stitch that rather resembled a bet’to root:

**Julian – It may amuse you to know that embroidery is now what I do to calm my mind. How droll that the bane of my existence has now become a source of solace. Mercifully, it is not the only one: your letters are a constant delight. May I tell you how much it means to me to hear about your day-to-day life? It reminds me of simpler times, back on the station, before our lives became so very complicated. I confess that I’ve read your letters to me more than once. When I hear of the details of your work, of your colleagues, I feel as if I have you sitting next to me, telling stories, trying to make me laugh. May I say that sometimes I very much miss your presence? Or would that be disappointing and dull from the enigmatic Elim Garak? Am I revealing too much by presenting myself as so captivated by simple things? Please, my dear: tell me more. Be mysterious about it if you must. I suppose you’ve earned your chance at obfuscation, after all. And it is so very engaging. – Elim**


	9. Chapter 9

**From: J. Bashir** **–** **Sent: Stardate 54166.3** **–** **Subject: Reply**

**Dear Garak,**

**How very excellent that I was able to re-establish the connection between Ezri and yourself. I certainly wouldn’t want the two of you to fall out of touch, especially if connections to Starfleet officers are such valuable things. No doubt you want to preserve all the resources you have.**

**You didn’t say much about Cardassia in your last letter, except to suggest that things had gotten a bit busier than previously. Is everything all right? Can I be of any service? I’ve heard that the dust storms are worse this year than expected, that the reclamation of the dead zones is proving more challenging than hoped. Is that accurate? How fare the Dunes?**

**I’ve been thinking a bit more about Wings lately, and do you know, I’m more and more convinced that there may be something to your way of thinking. Not regarding Tozen and Siv’rie being from two different worlds—that’s easily surmounted if both parties desire it, don’t you think? Two worlds met at least once a week at our table at the Replimat, and I don’t recall there being any difficulty reaching a meeting of the minds. God, if you really want to expand the metaphor, how many times did we start with Vulcan and finish with Idanian, not to mention the Tarkalean on the side? No, worlds meet all the time, and when it happens, both sides come away richer for it.**

**But they both have to _want_ to meet, don’t they? And perhaps that’s where the issue arises in this tale. Tozen loves Siv’rie, yes? He certainly seems to think so. But he never does anything about it, not really. You seem to feel that he’s protecting Siv’rie, that the reason he never reaches out is that he might embarrass her—or himself. You consider him a prisoner of his own propriety.**

**My take on it is rather different. I think he just didn’t care enough to do anything about it.**

**I think he told himself that he loved Siv’rie—certainly we’re looking from inside his head, aren’t we? There’s an awful lot of _beautiful mind_ and hiTh'mit fluttering in the heart, and he finds her appealing and engaging, etcetera, etcetera, and so he tells himself that he’s in love with her. But he doesn’t love her enough to give her a choice, does he? He doesn’t love her enough to let her make up her own mind. Perhaps he loves the _idea_ of Siv’rie, the thought of the two of them working side by side… Certainly she’d be a useful resource, wouldn’t she? Perhaps he could recruit her to work on his own projects—imagine the boost to his reputation—anyway, I’m conjecturing now, but the point is: he may have loved some imagined version of Siv’rie, but he didn’t love the real woman in front of him. And so he never did anything about it. Too bad. Perhaps it was for the best.**

**The paper went off well, if you’re interested. Turns out there are a few other people working on similar things, and I’ve been messaging back and forth with them regarding the possibility of working together. This will amuse you: one is a Cardassian. Have you heard of Mhev Vakret? Apparently rather famous in her field. Perhaps you should try to meet her; I’m sure she’d be a useful connection, too.**

**Do write back if you can find the time.**

**Sincerely,**

**Julian Bashir**

This time the post-script is a little picture of Julian himself, looking extremely professional, and scribbled underneath it:

**PS—Quite the shot, eh? This is what they used to promote my paper. “Carrington nominee Julian Bashir.” ~~How timely to be reminded of the last time I got worked up over~~ I thought it might amuse you to have a copy. Hope all is well with you. —JB**


	10. Chapter 10

**From: E. Garak** **—Sent: Stardate 54175.2—Re: Misconceptions**

**My very dear Doctor Bashir,**

**This letter will be brief—I haven’t much time, these days, for writing. You are correct: things are very busy here. We are doing our best to prevent famine. The work teams are constantly busy. We sow, we reap, we never sleep, as one amusing little slogan would have it. One would think in a society with replicators that famine would be a ridiculous notion. But there are so few replicators, and so many mouths to feed, and sometimes it feels as if we will never be free of this time. The Fire has left us nothing, truly nothing. There is nothing you can do, except to continue to write to me.**

**Which brings me to the subject of my letter, and forgive me if I am less polished than you’ve grown accustomed to. I simply had to address your misconceptions on the subject of The Movement of Wings. I could not stand the idea of you misunderstanding so completely. Allow me to educate you.**

**You postulate that the true reason for Tozen’s choosing to allow Siv’rie to pursue her own path, without interference from him and his inappropriate desires, is that he does not want the real Siv’rie. That he does not love her as she is, but instead only loves some idea of her that would not survive the test of truth.**

**You are wrong. Flat-out wrong, my dear, and I apologize for my bluntness, but this is a topic on which I feel rather strongly. The fault is not in Tozen’s passion—not at all! He does love Siv’rie, truly and with all of himself. He sees everything about her. There is no construct in his mind. Yes, he loves the Siv’rie who delivers research papers and who lectures to the Triune Ministry, and how she exemplifies the beauty of the Cardassian mind. But he also loves the Siv’rie who shares ikri buns with him, who stares in fascination at the colours on the wings of the hiTh’mit, who rolls her eyes at the mere mention of the four-path tales he loves so much. Do you not see it? They have only a short time together as people, rather than representatives of their institutions, and do you not see how Tozen glories in it? I wonder at you, Doctor. Aren’t you the romantic, the optimist? Use your eyes _,_ for once, and see what is so plain before you: Tozen loves Siv’rie as much as one flawed person can ever love another. He simply chooses to let her go  because he loves her, because he does not wish to impede her progress, because someone as excellent as Siv’rie deserves to make her own way in the world without the impediment of the affections of someone who can offer her nothing.**

**And as for the mere thought that he cares for her only because she could potentially be useful to him—! I am speechless!**

**For pity’s sake, I wonder at you sometimes. Have you really learned nothing from me? Have I been so opaque?**

**For your interest, the Dunes are still green. Greener every day, in fact. I do not know how this can be so. Yet here it is.**

**Your picture is very nice. I prefer you slightly less polished, however.**

**Your health,**

**Elim Garak**

This time the scan is of a torn-out section of a printout, and some rather emphatic Cardassian is hand-written around and over the neatly printed text. Some words are underlined, one is circled, and there’s an arrow marked so hard that the paper appears to be creased.

**Julian—Look, for goodness’s sake, look. It’s right here. “His mind took her in, completely, and everything she was and everything she might be became all there was to him. Her existence encircled his own, shot it through with lines of meaning he had never before seen. _Of course,_ he thought.” Now what more do you want than that?  He loves her. —Elim**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ikri buns are courtesy of Una McCormack. Mmm, powdered sugar doughnuts! Ubiquitous across the worlds!


	11. Chapter 11

**From: J. Bashir** **—Sent: Stardate 54175.1—Re: Clarification?**

**Dear Garak,**

**Well, I’ve certainly been put in my place. Can’t say I mind much, though.**

**For some reason I’m rather delighted that you feel that Siv’rie means more to Tozen than just a convenient way to boost his own reputation. I think you’ve swayed me to your way of thinking, actually. Well argued. My eyes have been opened.**

**All right, then: so if Tozen does love Siv’rie so very much, and if he still lets her go… tell me, do you think he ever regrets it? He must. If she was everything he wanted—and she certainly does seem to be, doesn’t she? I went back and re-read that section with the buns, and he spends three sentences on how she licks her fingers, for God’s sake. Anyway—if Siv’rie is everything he ever wanted, and the problem is that he feels he can’t live up to her… Does he try to improve his lot? All right. Perhaps a university aide can’t court a Ministry rep, but what if their circumstances changed? Could she come down to him somehow? Is there any way that it could be made to work? I cannot believe that Cardassian society is really so inflexible!**

**Makes me glad to be a Human, really. We can love who we like. I can choose a partner based solely on whether I think they’re a good match for me. Someone who makes me smile, who makes me think… someone who likes to try new things, someone who doesn’t let me get lazy… someone who’ll challenge me when I get complacent or arrogant (as I have been told I can sometimes be, although I’m still not quite sure I believe it—anyway…!)… It’s hard to find someone like that, isn’t it? Someone who’s everything one wants? Have you ever met anyone who makes you feel like that? Or is that too obvious a question?**

**I’m very glad the Dunes are green. I think of them often, for some reason. It makes me feel good to think that there’s always possibility in a situation, no matter how final it might seem. I have that little picture of the Dunes saved in my quickref. Sometimes I perch it on a display, just in the corner, so I can smile at it while I work. (Don’t worry—I've blurred the lettering.) There’s something very compelling about that idea of new growth, don’t you think? Of an old situation, so well known, changing and sprouting something new? To be honest with you, these days I’m thinking of little else. I wonder if your letter could have had anything to do with it? Have you persuaded me of something? Now, I wonder, can I persuade you?**

**I should write something about station business, shouldn’t I? Let’s see. Well, M’rtk’xc says ‘hello.’ He’s only met a few Cardassians. He says I’m lucky to have one for a friend—isn’t that amusing—because their thought patterns are, and I quote, ‘well ordered.’ Glass spiders, ye gods, what can I say? Oh, well, he’s young, and I’m sure he’s never met anyone who thinks in such tangles as you do. It is pretty, though, the way your mind works. One might even say ‘beautiful.’ In fact, I think I already have…**

**Oh, dear, there I go again. How very distracted I am. Can’t seem to focus on anything, except when your next letter might come. I do hope it will be soon.**

**I’m not doing at all well at being mysterious, am I? I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment to you.**

**Write soon.**

**Warmly,**

**Julian Bashir**

Attached is another picture. Once again, it’s of Julian Bashir. This time, though, he’s grinning and his hair is mussed. He’s caught mid-laugh, looking just past the imager. Scribbled along its edge:

**PS—Less polished? Will this do? Rij took it at my birthday party. It’s a bit outdated now—it’s been months—but I think that still looks like me. I grinned much like that when I read your last letter. When, exactly, did I start to enjoy being admonished by you? Now that is a mystery. —JB**


	12. Chapter 12

**From: E. Garak** **—Sent: Stardate 54222.3—Subject: Expectations, and living up to them**

**My very dear Doctor Bashir,**

**I am pleased to hear that I’ve managed to convince you of the accuracy of my interpretation of The Movement of Wings. I must confess, I didn’t expect you to come around to my way of thinking so quickly. I’m pleased that you recognize truth when you see it. And, may I say, I am both grateful for and delighted by your open mind.**

**The last week has been very busy. The Federation has supplied us with further industrial replicators, as well as an allotment of generators, and has assisted us in distributing them world-wide. The poor people up in Hannarad were freezing to death, and yet they wouldn’t leave their homes. Stubborn. I suppose I can understand. Still, it relieves me to know that they now have the materials required to both warm and feed themselves, at least to minimum standards. Now we just need to maintain minimal power grid standards, and perhaps we'll find our way out of this next manufactured crisis. There is never enough of anything, it seems.**

**One small mercy: the famine of which I spoke previously appears to have been averted. Once again, bet’to has saved us all. I have eaten nothing but bet’to for two weeks now. I eat it raw. I eat it cooked. I drink it squeezed. I hate it. We all hate it. But it has saved us. I am pleased to inform you that I’ve managed to drop one clothing size due to my enforced diet. All it took was global starvation. If only I'd known! I would have started earlier.**

**As for your question about Tozen and Siv’rie (ie. would he regret never approaching Siv’rie), I’ve thought about this, and my answer comes in two parts. We must consider which aspect Tozen might regret.**

**First, does he regret the loss of his daily interaction with Siv’rie? I am certain that he does. We see it in the way his days warm when she is there, and in how they are darker and shorter once she has left. I am sure it is not an accident that the only place he finds a similar warmth is his garden of hiTh’mit. That is where his passion is, and he must pursue it; it is, after all, the only realistic option for him.**

**This leads me to the second part of the answer: do I believe he regrets not acting? No, my dear, I do not. I state again: it would have ruined them both. We seem to be going around and around on this issue, and I think it is perhaps due to the fact that we are, fundamentally, very different. You are a Federation-born Human, and I am Cardassian, of Prime and of the Union. You were born to be whatever you liked; I was born to be what was needed. Your society permits you to act as you choose, and cares for you anyway; mine required me to perform the tasks I was assigned in return for its care. Your society gives you anything you like without requirement, and so you are not grateful to it; my society rewards my hard work, and I am endlessly grateful for what it can spare for me. If Tozen is anything like me, he will understand this: it is not appropriate to reach for more than one is offered. It is not appropriate to try to take something that is for someone else. Siv’rie is not for Tozen. He understands this. If he had opened his arms to her… well, perhaps you have convinced me that she might have embraced him in return. But then things would become difficult for them, Doctor, difficult beyond your imagining.**

**Here is what I think happens, my dear doctor. I think both Tozen and Siv’rie move on. I think they both select partners that are appropriate for them. I think they choose the easy path, because the struggles of the hard path are daunting. Sometimes in life it’s best to take what is easily offered, to recognize one’s limitations. Both Tozen and Siv’rie are clever people. I believe their actions would follow from this. They would, I think, accept reality.**

**And yet… the Dunes are green, are they not? I visited them yesterday. The mertgen is thick on the ground. The long leaves of bet’to wave. I slipped off my shoes and dug my claws into the dirt. It was cold, and the mertgen was soft against my soles. Nothing should grow there. And yet, oh, how the Dunes are green!**

**I am perhaps not as wise as Tozen.**

**Your latest picture sits by my worktable, so that you can laugh at me just as often as you used to. Still, it is no comparison to reality. I find myself thinking more and more, these days, of reality. Are you correct? Is it simply what we decide to make it? I find myself obsessed with this question.**

**Please, my dear, waste no time in responding to me.**

**Your health,**

**Elim Garak**

Attached: a caricature. A Cardassian man is staring mistrustfully at a bet’to root labelled _Federation morality_ ; a woman standing next to him is scolding him: “Choke it down! It’s good for you!” Garak’s neat printing runs top-to-bottom beside the cartoon.

**Julian—This is the kind of thing that would never, ever have been permitted in the good old days. Or, at least, it would only have been permitted from a State-sponsored pen. Here we see the common feeling about Federation assistance. Well-put, don’t you think? I admit, I laughed… and it is good to see that people can speak without fear, isn’t it? That perhaps there is more freedom to feel and to say how one feels than there used to be? Our world is building a new reality, one where the Dunes are green. Tell me: shall I be brave, and do the same? —Elim**


	13. Chapter 13

**From: J. Bashir** **—Sent: Stardate 54290.4—Subject: Warmth  
**

**Dear Garak,**

**Thank God for bet’to. I’m terribly glad to hear that the latest crisis has been averted. With any luck, things can calm down now a bit as summer approaches—it is almost summer there, isn’t it? Another month or two? You’ll like that, I imagine. It must be wonderful to really be warm again. You were always so cold here; your skin was almost clammy. Exotherms warm up when their environment warms, right? Are you warm to the touch now, too? I think you might be. I find myself rather curious about how your skin might feel when it’s been warmed under the sun.**

**Leaving that fascinating concept aside, I must respond to your latest diatribe on Wings.**

**No, actually, I'm going to do something else entirely. It will disappoint you, I'm sure. I’m going to stop fencing about and being subtle and I’m going to come right out and say it: Garak, this is eating me alive. Tozen just walks away? In a galaxy full of people he’s found the person who’s just right for him, and she feels the same way, and instead of either of them doing something about it they’re just going to go on with their lives and hope that someone more appropriate shows up? Because this will be too difficult?**

**Garak, it’s love! If someone turns up in your life that makes you smile and makes you dream about them when you should be working and makes you think about things differently and you care for them and they care for you, then you act on it, difficult or not! If you don’t… well, what kind of way is that to live? A life that bows down to what’s realistic? To hell with reality! You’ve got to shape your life, you’ve got to take what you want and make your own reality, or else what is the point?**

**Tozen should have told Siv’rie how he felt when they were together, but he didn’t. That doesn’t mean he can’t still tell her! That doesn’t mean he can’t send her a letter, or call her, or something—it’s just foolish not to do so if he’s still thinking of her, dreaming of her—we aren’t Trills, Garak, we only get one go-round and it’s up to us to make it happy and—**

**Look, can you please just tell me: do you think we have a shot? The two of us? Because you’re hinting and dancing around and I can’t stop thinking about you and I know I’m going to regret sending this as soon as I do it but I can’t help it.**

**This is me asking you, Garak. Flat-out. Do you care for me?**

**Please don’t make me wait long for an answer. I won’t have any fingernails left.**

**Yours,**

**Julian**

And there’s no attachment, because that letter says all there is to say.

 


	14. Chapter 14

_strange attraction spreads its wings_   
_it varies but the smallest things_   
_you never know how anything will change_   
_strange attraction spreads its wings_   
_and alters but the smallest things_   
_you never know how anything will fade_

* * *

_Oh, God. Oh, God, what have I done?_

His hands hovered in mid-air over the console surface. _Oh, God._

Well, there weren’t any take-backs now, were there?

_But it might not be—he might not be—_

“For God’s sake, Bashir, _pull yourself together.”_

He clenched his hands into fists, released them slowly, settled them on his thighs, sighed, slowly tilted forward until his forehead rested gently on the console.

“What is this? What am I _doing?”_

Evidence. That was what he needed. Evidence, citations, something to make it clear to him that he hadn’t conjured all of this out of thin air. He sat bolt upright, frowned, danced his fingers across the console, cross-referencing Garak’s letters to him, his letters back, _oh, God, please,_ it had to be clear in retrospect, didn’t it? Garak had written to him irascibly about love, hadn’t he? That was awfully Cardassian, wasn’t it? God, was any of this true or was he just seeing what he wanted to see?

_For eight months now, eight months—_

It had started out as something mildly amusing, a fun little flirtation… and why not? They’d gotten awfully flirty over their little table sometimes, hadn’t they? He’d never taken it particularly seriously; Garak could flirt with a wall.

But “I am yours—”

“—my dear—”

“—captivated—”

“—Have I been so _opaque?”_

—he was signing himself _Elim,_ for God’s sake—

It had to add up to something. It _had_ to. And yet whenever he tried to pin it down it slipped through his fingers, light and wispy as one of Garak’s pretty silks, until he felt as if he’d tear things to bits if he didn’t stop being so damned _clumsy._

_I am not clever enough for this, not nearly goddamned clever enough!_

All of his vaunted genetic engineering was completely useless here, wasn’t it? This wasn’t a puzzle he could solve by thinking it through—but it wasn’t a seduction either, not really, it was too delicate, too ticklish, and when it came down to it he still didn’t _know._

_I just need to wait and see._

_I_ hate _waiting._

Something in the room was making a high-pitched whining noise. It wasn't helping his mood. It helped even less when he realized the thing making the noise was him.

* * *

The first day was long but manageable. He smiled at Rijal. He joked with the young Tellarite with the broken nasal bone. He knocked out another few paragraphs of the article he was co-writing with Mhev, charming woman, a bit condescending but she really did know how to turn a phrase (and if that wasn't a Cardassian, nothing was). He was thoroughly distracted. No time for thinking at all. It was fine.

The second day he found himself nibbling at his fingernails. Not all of them, not really, so that was all right, but the nail of the little finger of his left hand had the tiniest rough edge and it was rather irritating. He kept noticing it when he was trying to do other things. It caught on his hair as he brushed it, it caught on the skin of the orange he peeled, it caught on damned near everything and eventually he grabbed a laser scalpel and nipped the damned thing off. When he looked up, Rijal was looking at him with brows raised, half-smiling.

"Who is it this time?" She wasn't laughing. Not quite.

"No one. Nobody. Nothing. Never mind."

She brought him a decaf raktajino, delivered with a sympathetic shoulder-pat, and he sank his face into his hands.

The third day he was a jittery mess, and thank God he was off-duty because he wouldn’t have been good for a goddamned thing. He was vibrating, worried and excited and unable to think of anything else but that irritating man receiving his foolish letter and opening it up and reading it and—

_And…?_

_And why haven’t I heard anything yet?_

Which was ridiculous. It could take days for non-priority communications to even reach Cardassia, let alone to come to the attention of one Elim Garak who was no doubt busy with much more important things than a letter from one infatuated ass, and when he finally _did_ get to it, damn the man, he’d no doubt take his time choosing the words for his reply, he’d _stew_ over the damned thing and _savour_ it and _dawdle_ and for _God’s sake—_

He nibbled the next nail over and rolled his eyes. _Ridiculous, ridiculous._

He should go out. He should go for a walk, that was what he should do. Or see if a holosuite was free, maybe take on a Spartan or two, _yeah,_ just release some tension because this was incredibly stupid and he was only going to drive himself around the—

 _Bing,_ went his console, and he spun in his chair and latched on to the damned thing like an infant seeking succor. _Marked contact! Oh, God, a message, can’t be—might be—is it—_

Oh. It was from Ezri.

 _Oh!_ It was from _Ezri!_


	15. Chapter 15

**From: E. Dax** **—Sent: Stardate 54193.6—Subject: WHOA**

**Dear Julian,**

**Okay, I dictated this, and you're going to have to forgive me if it gets a little incoherent.**

**Thanks for the station news, first of all. Glad to hear things are going well. Quark and Ro seem like a really weird match, so that probably means it'll work out. Glad Nerys is holding steady too. Say hi to everybody for me. I sat down and wrote out a big long letter about what's going on with me, and I've sent it along with this, so you can read that later after you listen to what I'm going to say, because _you really need to listen to me right now._**

**Julian: I know you pretty well. Better than a lot of people, I guess. I like you a lot. And I love you, too, even when you're hard to like. And I usually try to pull my punches a bit. But sometimes I see somebody thinking something so ridiculous that the counsellor in me kind of steps forward, and out come the punches. And also maybe Emony, a bit. And Curzon. Anyway, listen up, because I'm really worried that you're going to get yourself in trouble—**

**Oh, boy, you're not going to like hearing this. But you asked what I thought of the idea of you and Garak. And you're going to find out.**

**Okay: of _course_ Garak's flirting with you! Really, are you serious? He's been flirting with you since I met you—since I met _him!_ He flirted with me too, he flirted with everybody, but with you he _meant_ it! I've got a lot of experience with this kind of thing, Julian, and look: Garak would have taken you up on _any_ kind of offer in a split second. He likes you! He always has! And if you've started flirting back—really, what did you _think_ was going to happen? I don't think you get to play innocent on this one. I think you knew exactly what was going on. But I think you're going to get more than you bargained for—and I'm not sure you've thought this through!**

**I know what you're thinking now. 'Who is she to give me advice, 'doesn't even know who she is,' all that kind of thing. And back on the station, maybe that was true. But things here… they're different. Maybe going back to DS9 wasn't the right thing for me. Maybe it clouded my head… or maybe I just needed more time to figure out who I am without my past right there in front of me. I don't know. And I wouldn't change a thing—not with Benjamin, not between you and me. But I'm better out here. I feel like the kind of person that can give advice now, good advice. And you're going to get some.**

**Getting involved with Garak is a _bad idea._ I just don't see it ending well. The two of you are too different. I know you two _sound_ like the same person sometimes, but Julian… he's not like you at all.**

**Let me lay it out for you.**

**I mean, first of all: Obsidian Order. Right? You know it and I know it and he takes _pride_ in it. Believe me, the stories he tells—well, you've probably heard them all and they're probably all lies, but it sure sounds like there's some truth in there somewhere. I do think he regrets his past. I think he wants to be better. He's certainly trying to make amends, I think. And I _like_ him. But nobody can change their spots, Julian…**

**And he's a Cardassian. And not just any Cardassian: he's Elim Garak. You know how he feels about his home. It's like a religion for him. And there's nothing wrong with that, except that it means Cardassia will always come first for him. Julian, you're not Cardassian. You don't share those values. You put _people_ first, not ideals. It isn't hard to think of ways things are going to get complicated there, is it? **

**And, hey, while we're speaking of Cardassia: are you going to move there? Because I don't see him coming back to the station, do you? And let's be honest, we both know long-distance relationships don't work. So what do you do if it works, if it really works? You two do have amazing chemistry, he likes what you like—so do you resign your commission? Give up your career?**

**And… look, I probably shouldn't tell you this but he and I write to each other, you know that, and he has never, ever mentioned you. Not even once. So what does that tell you? What are you to him?**

**Julian, stop thinking with your heart and start using your _head._ You've got a good one. _Use_ it. Stop leaping before you look… no, that's a stupid thing to say to you, because that's what you do, right? You always leap before you look. And Jadzia would probably have told you to go for it. So would Curzon. And Torias…**

**But Ezri… but _I'm_ worried you won't have anywhere to land.**

**I'm sorry to say all this. I feel awful about it. But I also feel that you should know. It probably doesn't make any difference. We're, what, three weeks apart by subspace? So who knows what you're doing now? I just hope you're okay.**

**I hope you'll still write to me. And I hope we can still be friends. But I understand if you don't want to write for a while.**

**Lots of love. And be careful, okay?**

**Ezri**


	16. Chapter 16

There didn't seem to be a word, exactly, to describe how he was feeling. His brain flipped through its back-catalogue anyway while he breathed, fists clenched.

 _Furious_ was too red-faced. _Stunned_ was too calm. _Indignant_ had something of the right feeling about it, as, interestingly, did _guilty_ and _sullen_ …

"Damn it!"

Okay. He was allowed to smack the console once. Just once. Any more than that would be childish. Oh, _childish,_ that was another word that fit. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why had he mentioned it to her at all?

_Because I needed to, that's why. Because I needed to talk to someone._

Couldn't be Miles, could it. He'd tried about three times to compose a letter and each time had given it up as a really, really bad job. There were some things that were just impossible to talk to Miles about. And Rij wasn't any better. She'd never much cared for Garak, and although it hadn't been based on anything more than his being Cardassian—probably—he certainly wasn't in any kind of position to lecture her about judging on appearances. And who else did that leave?

It left Ezri. Who he trusted. And cared about. And still loved, damn it, and always would, and the thing that was making him angriest of all was that she'd laid out everything he was back-brain ignoring on a screen in front of him, and now he had to _think_ about it!

He pushed back from the console and slammed the chair against it as he stood. Pacing wasn't strenuous enough. Where was… there it was: he grabbed his racquet and ball and smacked the latter with the former as hard as he could against the wall of his quarters. Now again, harder. And _again._

Of course Garak would put Cardassia ahead of him. Of course he would. _(Whap,_ went the ball against the wall.) That wasn't in question. And it didn't matter anyway. They could figure it out as they went. He could adapt. _(Whap.)_ And long-distance relationships weren't something worth worrying about! Ezri had dismissed the idea without even giving him a _chance!_ Surely Garak would consider it? All right, certainly he hadn't talked the idea up much, but he'd give it a try, wouldn't he? _(Whap.)_ And as for Garak's past, well, that was water under the bridge, more or less, couldn't change a person, what mattered were the actions they took in the present, and Garak was at home on Cardassia doing his best, wasn't he? _(Whap.)_ Every letter told him how desperate things were on Cardassia, how Garak was living literally subsistence-level, how the Federation was ever-so-slowly dispensing technology in dribs and drabs, which made sense given Cardassia's recent position in the war, couldn't really trust them yet—

 _Whap! Whap! Whap!_ "Oh, my God, listen to me!"

His own mind! He'd just honestly thought that Cardassians couldn't be trusted! As a whole! As a species! And that was nonsense— _but,_ his mind said calmly, _there are going to be rebel elements on Cardassia. It's not a safe place to be, is it? The more the Federation helps them, the more they owe us, and they're going to resent us—_

 _Whap!_ "It doesn't matter!"

 _Really?_ asked his mind. _So how do you think it'll be, then, being a Starfleet officer on Cardassia? Being the most visible target? Because Ezri's right. Garak will never, ever come back here. You're going to have to go there. Even if it's only for short visits here and there—_

—which sounded awful, _whap!—_

_—you're going to be a walking target in an awfully bright uniform. Unless, of course, you want to take off the uniform._

"I _don't._ And I don't have to." _Whap!_

 _Just think about it,_ said his mind. _Don't rush into things. Think it over._

 _Bedeep,_ said his console, at the same time as his combadge blipped. He stood like a stunned idiot for a moment, racquet in one hand, other hand up to catch the ball, and as it smacked into his palm he dropped his racquet and tapped his combadge as he leaned over to read his console display—

"Deputy Nalda to Doctor Bashir."

—oh, God, _marked contact_ again—

"Bashir here."

—was it Ezri's other letter? Or was it—

"We've gotten a noise complaint, Doctor."

—oh, it _was,_ it was from _Garak,_ oh, _God—_

"Um… really?"

—his heart was beating quadruple-time—

"Something about a repetitive thumping."

—he squeezed the ball hard, hard, hands trembling, anger and anticipation swirling in his stomach—

"Sorry about that. Just… working off some stress with a little racquetball practice."

—was he ready for this? _Not remotely—_

"Keep it on the court, please, Doctor."

— _for God's sake, get off the comm!—_

"Will do. Sorry. Bashir out."

—and he threw the stupid ball at the wall one more time for good measure, _whap,_ and reached for the console and tapped the screen—


	17. Chapter 17

_the year grew old; incessantly she wrote to me_  
 _she’d “started smoking poetry!” i laughed in recognition of a favourite phrase_  
 _she’d pulled me in – i answered her: a Christmas card in sepia_  
 _arranging when and where and how the two of us would meet_

* * *

**From: E. Garak—Sent: Stardate 54293.4—Subject: Exposure**

**My very, very dear Doctor Bashir,**

And suddenly he wasn't angry, because oh, that was good—

**There may be hope for you yet.**

And that was _better,_ and he rocked briefly back on his heels, hand to his mouth, eyes wide and grinning, oh, he _knew_ that phrase, knew it very well indeed— _how many times has he said that to me? It can't be an accident—_

**Tell me, would Starfleet permit you to take leave? Have you stitched enough wounds and mended enough hearts to earn yourself some time away?**

**Cardassia is waiting, as, I must say, am I.**

_Oh, my God. Oh, my God!_ Palpitations, possible arrhythmia, and a fine tremor of the extremities—

**Please answer quickly. I fear I'm having some trouble concentrating on my work, and my heart has been racing in a very worrying way. I don't believe I'll feel entirely well until I see you face to face. And it wouldn't be like you to leave a patient in need.**

**Impatiently,**

**Elim Garak**

"Oh, my _God!"_

Did he have leave? Could he _get_ leave? Never mind, he'd get leave—had to talk to Kira—Semna could handle the infirmary, everything was fine—

Next to Garak's letter, the indicator for Ezri's contact still blinked, waiting for him to calmly parse her communiqué in a mature fashion and compose an intelligent, thoughtful reply.

" _Oh—_ oh… oh, God." He peered through splayed fingers at the screen. Too much emotion, too little time, he was either going to be sick or explode unless he calmed down _right now._

He closed his eyes and breathed deep, gut churning, mind racing. _Don't be stupid, Julian._ He knew Ezri had given him good advice. Somewhere, intellectually, he did know that. _Aargh._ It would be rude not to reply to her message—but he was angry at her, damn it—or was he? Impossible to tell how he felt about anything right now, as epinephrine whirled through him, as he trembled with it. _Oh, God!_ It would be smarter to wait an hour, a day—to let this sit a bit, to calm down, to let Ezri's advice sink in and to figure out whether Garak really meant anything he said, not to mention what could happen down the road, _oh, my God, down the road, there's a road,_ he could shout, and therefore he should not. He should sit down. He should breathe. Yes. Yes, that was a good idea. Mature. Intelligent. Thoughtful. Yes.

"Computer, given current traffic patterns and expected arrivals and departures, how soon could I get to Cardassia Prime?"


	18. Chapter 18

**From: J. Bashir—Sent: Stardate 54296.4—Subject: Inconvenience**

**My very dear Mister Garak,**

**You aren't my patient. I don't owe you a thing. And I think it's a bit rude of you to suggest that I do.**

**There's a transport stopping at DS9 in five days that will reach Cardassia three days later. I plan to book a berth. I trust this will not inconvenience you. To be frank, I don't really care if it does.**

**Equally impatiently,**

**Julian**

* * *

**From: E. Garak—Sent: Stardate 54299.1—Subject: Instruction is clearly required**

**My incredibly ridiculous Doctor Bashir,**

**That wasn't the worst example of Cardassian-style flirtation I've ever seen, but I think you have a great deal of room to improve. Perhaps I can teach you something. That is, if you're teachable.**

**I look forward to finding out.**

**Hurry.**

**—Elim**

* * *

And after that letter, well… it really rather seemed as if all of his concerns could wait. Or at least he could tell himself that for now. A few weeks, at least.

He could leap before he looked. He had to land _somewhere._ And when he did, well, he could pick up his problems then.

In the meantime: one, two, three, _jump—_

 


	19. Chapter 19

_her opening so well prepared: a nervous smile (i couldn’t take my eyes from her)_  
_she whispered, “can i use some of your lipstick?”_  
_it was perfect, so believable – i couldn’t help but feel that it was real_  
_and, kissing crimson, fell into her waiting arms_

* * *

Three days had never seemed so long. And, disappointingly, not for the standard romance-related reasons, the whole _I must be with you, I long for you, I must wrap you in my arms_ sort of thing. He didn't at all mind _that_ sort of thing. Rather lived for it, in fact.

But this… was quite different.

This was sheer, unadulterated nerves.

 _What am I going to do? What am I going to_ say?

Because it was a certain thing that Garak was going to have just the right set-up prepared. He'd be wearing something perfect (whatever that might be), and when Julian saw him he'd smile and he'd say something devastatingly clever and well-calculated—

— _now what kind of words would Elim Garak choose to seduce me most effectively?_ Even in the middle of his panic, that made him raise a bemused brow—

—but anyway, in the passion-filled pause that followed, Julian Bashir would open his mouth and say, "Uhhhh…"

It wouldn't do. It just wouldn't. And so he'd spent three days frantically thinking up options, and those three days of frantic thought had left him with nothing more than the certainty that he was going to make a complete and utter arse of himself. Again.

It was bad enough to greet a brand new world with that kind of thing roiling in the back of one's mind, making one feel stupid. It was slightly worse to find that it was approximately 37 degrees Celsius in the shuttleport in which one was to feel stupid. It was worse still to be dressed in a very visibly Starfleet uniform while standing in said Starfleet-unfriendly 37-degree-Celsius shuttleport and feeling stupid. The icing on the heat-drenched pariah-uniformed moronic cake was that he realized abruptly, upon exiting the shuttle from the transport and gazing out at the new world that greeted him, that he'd made no more specific plan to meet Garak than "I'll see you on Cardassia."

He stared at the vaulting arch of the shuttleport terminal, watching the sea of grey-faced people surge from shuttle to train to skimmer to God only knew what else.

Suddenly his plan seemed slightly inadequate.

_Everything about me seems slightly inadequate!_

All right, well, he was in Kardasi'or now, wasn't he? That was the main city, wasn't it? Definitely it was. And Garak was here too somewhere, most likely, as the Alik Dunes were a short distance from the city. Garak had talked about them, so perhaps he could start by going there and… no, that was stupid. He was not going to find Garak by camping out on the Dunes until he turned up. He'd probably get arrested for vagrancy. And put in a Cardassian jail. And then have to be rescued. Ooh, perhaps that could be good—

Or perhaps not. No. Probably not very good at all, in fact. Better, instead, to find a hotel and then a comm, and if he was lucky and the commnet was up, perhaps he'd be able to—

"Hello, my dear doctor…"

Instant gooseflesh in thirty-seven degree weather, and never mind the uniform and the sweat and the roiling unease: all of a sudden he was ten feet tall and smiling. _Did I honestly think_ I'd _have to find_ him _?_

"Hello, my dear Mister Garak," and where was he, follow the voice (the voice, oh, God), and…

_Oh!_

The first thing he thought was _gaunt,_ and then he immediately struck that out: no, not gaunt. Garak could never be gaunt. There was just… less of him. And more hair. _Longer?_ And a sort of plain coverall and sandals, really? Not quite perfect, but very, very Cardassian, oh, look at that, claws exposed, and then there was no more time to look because Garak was striding towards him and—

—and very delicately pressing his palm to Julian's, hmm, not quite what he'd—

—but wait, his hand was on Julian's forearm and sliding gently to his elbow—

—and he had never thought of the inside of his elbow as an erogenous zone but apparently life was for learning—

—and now Garak was leaning forward, smiling, whispering: "May I take your bag, Doctor?"

"Guh," he said, _I knew I was going to do that, never mind, keep going,_ "um, yes, I mean, of course, Garak—but I can carry it, it's just—"

"Thank you," and Garak smiled, open-mouthed, as his lovely scaly hand slid up Julian's arm, hooked the strap, tugged it away, and it was really, really time to calm down. _This is not foreplay. This is baggage-handling._

He stared at Garak's face, at the slightly rougher scaling, at the way his hair was mussed just at the hairline, at the coverall that was wrinkled and worn from use. Not at all the perfect Elim Garak. To be honest, he looked… rumpled.

 _Thump,_ went Julian's heart, less than calm.

_Oh. So that's how Elim Garak seduces me._

He licked his lips, which were suddenly rather dry. "I hope you haven't been waiting long…"

"Not long at all."

"I'm glad."

Garak smiled at him calmly and _oh, God,_ attractively, and Julian smiled back at him very probably stupidly—but wait: the moment could be rescued! _Now. Say something. Something amazing. Do it!_

"Well, Garak? You did say you hoped I was teachable. I've come prepared to learn."

_Oh, my God, Julian, that was pretty good!_

Garak's eyes had widened slightly, mouth shaping into a little _O_ of surprise. This was extremely satisfying, both intellectually and, ooh, right down deep in his belly.

"By all means, my dear. I must admit, I'm very, very glad to hear you say that. We can begin our lessons immediately, if you like…"

There was such a world of possibilities in that statement—

"…because I've managed to get us two resource chits, and if we're quick, I think we may still be able to get a table," said Garak, and Julian blinked.


	20. Chapter 20

They were knee to knee in the shuttleport eatery, leaning across a table, eating ikri buns and talking about literature.

_Restate that one, Julian, because you're not quite sure you believe it—_

Yes, apparently he'd flown three days through the inky void of space, heart somehow simultaneously in his mouth and in his hands, deserting duty for the promise of wild romance, in order to debate literature at a terrible restaurant over substandard replicated food.

_I'm not sure what else I expected._

But there was Garak, just across the table from him, thoroughly immersed in the point he was making, and for a moment Julian just looked, considering blue eyes and slightly unkempt dark hair.

It beat the hell out of letters on a console screen.

_Focus, Julian! You're supposed to be arguing!_

"And honestly," Garak was saying, "imagine the situation. For Tozen to appear at Siv'rie's workplace—let alone at one of her presentations! It would be completely inappropriate. Not his discipline, not his area… an embarrassment to himself and to her. Imagine the _explanations."_ Apparently scandalized, he bit into a bun.

"No, look—" He was waggling a sugar bun in the air. He was actually doing this. And he was making sure his answers were very long and well-thought out, because Garak had downed two buns and a plate of little meatballs in fifteen minutes. _Better than bet'to, I suppose… and if I'm going to be ridiculous, I can at least make sure he eats._ "What about the desire to learn? What if he tried to fit into her world? We talked about this. Isn't there any way he can make it work?"

Garak swallowed. "One must not reach for more than one is offered. Speaking of which, please pass the kafi."

"I can tell the Federation's been providing your replicators. I also can't believe you're drinking coffee."

"The rokassa juice those replicators generate is abysmal."

"'One must not reach for more than one is offered—'"

"Really, Doctor." Garak eyed him. "I'm learning to embrace one of your cultural touchstones. I thought you'd be pleased."

 _I'd much rather you were learning to embrace me!_ But patience was a virtue— _Flirt like a Cardassian, damn it!_ "And can't Tozen do that? Can't he learn? Learning is good, knowledge is power! Isn't that so, Garak?"

"And what will he do with his newfound knowledge?" Garak snorted very quietly into his mug. "Woo Siv'rie to his arms? It's useless to him."

"But he's _trying!"_ God damn the man! "Wouldn't she care that he was trying?"

"Trying to do something _useless._ There's nothing admirable about that. Tozen's place has already been decided, Doctor. He knows the role he is to fulfill. Tell me: shall he up-end his entire life, drop his research, to join her at her side?" Garak narrowed his eyes. "Or will it be a game to him? Will he pretend to dabble in what she loves in order to fool her into thinking he is more than he appears to be?"

He could throw a bun. He really could. Except it would be a waste of food that was better off inside Garak. "Can't there be sincerity there? Why does it have to be a lie? Can't one learn for love of learning? Why can't his desire to learn be due to honest admiration?"

"Oh, I suppose it can… but truly, it isn't her work that interests him, is it? It's her." Garak pursed his lips. "He is no mathematician. Pretending to be would lessen him."

"All right, of course, but this is just about the only way he can get closer to her, right? The only way to spend more time in her world—"

"By imitating her colleagues, how _praiseworthy—"_

"Okay, fine, but if he can't be himself and be with her then he _has_ to pretend—not that I can see why he has to do so in the first place! Can't Siv'rie just keep spending time with him as he is? Socially? Why does he have to be something he's _not?"_

"Tozen must pretend because it would not be fair to ask Siv'rie to do so," said Garak, dipping his bun into his mug and then biting into it with every evidence of pleasure.

"…what?"

"She is entitled to higher status. She has worked hard for her place. Her social networks are secure. Tell me: should she drop all of the things to which she is entitled to take up with Tozen, whose life is smaller in all ways?"

_"Garak—"_

"For the association would surely prove damaging to her reputation. She is expected to surround herself with people appropriate to her standing."

"And then stand there lonely in the middle of a crowd."

"We don't know that she's lonely," said Garak mildly, and yes, this was really a very interesting mix, this mingled desire to reach out and either caress his jaw or punch him in it—

"We know _Tozen_ is!"

"It doesn't matter—"

"It _does!_ It _does,_ and he doesn't even _ask_ her if she's lonely too!" His bun hit the table, puffing powdered sugar. Garak's mouth dropped open as his brow ridges rose. "And look, for someone who's got all these powerful friends, all these important things to do, she's certainly spending a lot of her time with a lowly entomologist—"

"—in the course of her work—"

 _"Nonsense!"_ He levelled a finger at Garak, whose eyes were suddenly wide. "She _likes_ him! She could have done all of that correspondence by mail! But she _comes_ to him! She asks his opinion! She lets him _feed_ her! Don't you _dare_ tell me it's only in the course of her work!"

"You're shouting…"

_"I know I'm shouting!"_

…in a cafeteria in a shuttleport on Cardassia, and people were looking at him, _don't forget about Cardassian jail!,_ and so he sat down into the chair he'd apparently stood up out of and tried to melt into the floor.

Garak was smiling. Really smiling, with eyelashes fluttering. "My goodness. How passionate you are about this book."

He was going to pick up the damned table and throw it against the wall. No, he wasn't. But _honestly—_ "Are we really talking about the book?"

"Now what else would we be talking about?"

"It's always games with you."

"Is it?"

"You never say anything flat-out!"

"Oh, my dear, I give you all the clues you need—"

"I don't want _clues,_ I want an _answer."_

"Life is never so neat," said Garak, "and I don't think you'd like it if it were." More batted lashes, a demure smile. His hand was right there, flat on the table, finely-scaled and grey. There was powdered sugar on his fingertips.

_I could reach out and take it._

He considered his options—

"Well, that _was_ stimulating," said Garak, rudely interrupting his thoughts, having _no_ sense of timing. "Thank you so much for your visit, Doctor. I have missed our discussions!" He folded his paper napkin neatly and tucked it under his plate. "Now, when will your shuttle be leaving?"

And now his mouth was open, and nothing was coming out except a sort of sotto voce gargling, which was really, really not helpful. "I don't _believe_ you."

"Yes, you do. You always do." Garak's smile was sly, his voice low, and he leaned forward, folding his fingers together. "It's one of the things I like best about you. You're such an enthusiastic audience."

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Oh, aren't you?" Now Garak affected surprise, lashes blinking. "Did you come here for more than conversation?"

"You know damned well I did."

"And what could it be that you're looking for?" Garak pursed his lips. "I can't imagine what else I could teach you…"

"I'm here for seven days. You'll think of something."

"But you've never been a slow learner, Doctor," said Garak, looking up from under his lashes, smiling. "I fear any lesson I might impart would fail to hold your interest."

"Try me," he said, suddenly feeling that he might actually be on sturdier ground than first thought.

"Really, I'm not even certain you're paying attention now."

"I _am." Believe me, I am, I am—_

"Is that so?" Apparently an ikri bun was now much more interesting than he was. "Then why have you only learned half the lesson?"

 _What?_ "I'm sorry?"

"Your flirtation, my dear. If I can call it that."

Not fair! "I'm doing my best."

"I'm not at all sure that you are." The bun was held up and examined. "I suppose I can't find fault with your general attitude—"

"You make being irritable very easy—"

"But is that really all there is to it?" Down went the bun, and Garak's eyes locked on to his. "Tell me, Doctor: what are you missing? _Think."_

A test. Really. _And yet I'm not surprised._ Every time he had to prove himself, every time he had to show how clever he was—well, all right. After seven years, he was getting pretty damned good at thinking like a Cardassian.

He looked at Garak, looked at his hands, his posture, his expression. _What am I missing?_ Nothing in the book: Tozen and Siv'rie had never made it remotely this far, unfortunately. Nothing in any of the other books Garak had ever lent him, either. Nothing in the itemized databanks of his mind, scrolling behind his eyes. He'd never seen Cardassians flirt—

 _Wait._ Hadn't Miles…?

Miles and Gilora Rejal, yes, that was—hmm. Something about postures? Miles had been extremely drunk when he'd described the incident to Julian, and more than a little embarrassed about the whole thing… that said, he'd been able to describe it surprisingly well. _I'll bet he never told Keiko…_

He reached out and rested his right hand on Garak's forearm, then slid it underneath, lifting Garak's arm so that his hand drooped gently—this was extremely weird, but Garak was smiling, so all systems go—and then spread the fingers of Garak's hand with his left hand. Contact, that was the thing, fingers against fingers and palms against palms, and so he stroked Garak's palm softly, letting his fingertips trace the little calluses near his thumb, at the base of each finger. _I'm almost certain those weren't there before…_

Garak's skin was cool, much as he remembered. His palm was marked with tiny cuts, half-healed or scarred over: signs of hard labour, perhaps? His fingers wore their share of abrasions as well. These weren't the soft tailor's hands that had gestured at him over so many lunches. These hands weren't pampered or protected. They served their world.

He traced along one nearly-healed cut with his thumb and felt Garak's forearm tense in his grip.

"Did that hurt?" He looked up—

_—oh, my God—_

Garak was smiling at him, that same dropped-jaw smile he'd been wearing since Julian had arrived, the open-mouthed amusement, so incredibly flirtatious, so remarkably punchable—but not quite the same as before. Something more to it. Something… deeper.

_Am I doing this right?_

Garak's shoulders were shifting almost imperceptibly. His arm was unmoving in Julian's grasp, but the rest of him… the very softest weaving, the gentlest shifting of positions. His posture was angled forward, his eyes were wide, gaze flicking back and forth across Julian's face. He looked like nothing more than a snake trying to mesmerize prey. And his mouth was open.

_Think like a Cardassian, damn it, because right at this moment it really, really matters—_

Wait, what had Garak just done? He'd sipped the air—his tongue had flickered, almost faster than sight—

_The scent-gland, the so'c… is he tasting me?_

That was both very arousing and very strange… but he was definitely leaning more towards the former. Yes. Pretty much entirely, in fact.

He suddenly had an idea. It was possibly a very stupid idea. More research was required, certainly. If he acted on it now, well, he'd be leaping without looking.

_My specialty._

If he leaned forward—and was careful not to impale himself on the table—could he reach…? Almost—and Garak wasn't backing away. If anything, he was leaning a bit closer too. There was a speck of powdered sugar on the corner of his mouth. His skin was a fine pattern of tiny, tiny scales…

 _My mouth tastes of coffee and sugar-buns._ And that would have to do: it was time to jump.

With Garak's arm in his tightening grip and Garak's hand pressed up against his own, with his mouth a centimetre from Garak's mouth and Garak's eyes widening, he sighed out a slow breath, an easy breath, letting it play across Garak's lips, drift into his mouth, and tried not to think about how desperately weird it would be to have someone do this to him—

—and then didn't have to think at all, because his attention was entirely captured by Garak's sudden shiver, the way his eyes slid shut, the way he gasped and then bit back a sound. His hand closed around Julian's, squeezing hard, almost too hard, and Julian grinned.

"Did I think hard enough?"

"Mmm… I… pardon me, my dear." His voice was suddenly slower, thicker, almost sleepy, and his shoulders were rounded.

"Were you waiting for that?"

"Humans can be _so_ hard to read… I do try, you know…"

"You usually do very well. And you can read me like a book."

"Ah, but books can have so many interpretations…"

He ran his hand up Garak's forearm and closed it around Garak's hand closed around his. Layers upon layers, his own skin against grey…

"Why else would I take a three-day journey on a transport to Cardassia? For a good _chat?"_

"It did seem improbable… but one never knows…" Garak's voice was almost drowsy now, his body language soft, and Julian laughed, delighted.

"Stay with me…"

"Mmm…"

Garak's mouth dropped open again, just a little. Another sigh was probably all right… yes, apparently it was, as Garak's fingers scratched their nails into the back of his fisted hand.

"You could have walked straight up to me and done this… whatever it is we're doing."

Garak's eyes opened. Oh, my, that was a sight: the full-on Garak stare, but without its customary intent to terrify. It was like being undressed in public. _Oh, better not think about that—_

"I felt that we should reserve… an option."

"Oh, really." Was it all right to kiss in public on Cardassia? He might risk it… although leaning across the table was really very awkward—yes, just a brush of lips… barely a kiss, really, so it was a bit ridiculous that it felt as if there were fireworks going off in his nervous system… "Mmm… in case I changed my mind?"

"Or in case I changed mine," said his Garak, oh, very probably his, from less than a breath away. "Sometimes reality isn't quite what we expect, my dear…"

"No… sometimes it's more."

"Mmm…"

"I'd like to kiss you again, but there are people staring."

"Let them stare…" Garak's voice was an airy whisper. "What am I to them? What are they to me?"

"I'd also like to kiss you somewhere that isn't a shuttleport cafeteria. May I come home with you?"

"Yes, yes… but it isn't much."

"I don't need much."

"Julian…" Oh, that was something he could hear forever… but Garak was sitting back slightly, his other hand pressed firm against the table, and he suddenly didn't seem sleepy at all. "You should know: I'm nothing here."

He shook his head, not quite understanding.

Now Garak's smile was tilted, self-deprecating. "I'm not a charming spy. I'm not a war liaison. I'm a menial labourer. I'm nothing."

"And…?"

"I can't offer you anything. No status."

"Don't want it."

"No connections."

"Don't need them."

"No glamour, no secrets…"

"Ridiculous." He leaned in, sharing a secret. "Elim Garak without glamour? Without secrets? They're so much a part of you that I'll never be without them."

Wide blue eyes again, head tilted back: Elim Garak, quietly astounded. Part of him wanted to laugh, and part of him was far too busy being limerent to do any such thing. _It turns out I'm the one calculating the words to seduce you, Elim…_ and oh, he'd just thought _Elim,_ he was allowed to think _Elim,_ and the very thought, the thought of the thought, set off a cacophony in his mind, a fluttering in his belly: he was filled, through and through, with the sudden sensation of the movement of wings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ikri buns are courtesy of Una McCormack. Cardassian toe-claws and the scent-gland in the mouth are courtesy of bmouse.
> 
> If you find yourself curious about what the two of them get up to on Cardassia, may I suggest a perusal of [Mint Car](http://archiveofourown.org/works/816009/chapters/1543725)?


	21. Chapter 21

 

 

Written on a piece of flimsy wrapping-plastic because paper is too scarce to use, marked out carefully with a strictly-rationed pen that contains actual ink in a limited supply…  
  
**Garak,**

**My Garak. My Elim. My dear Mr. Garak.**

**Do you know my hands are shaking? It's hard to write. Also I'm still quite drunk.**

**~~I'm so in love with you that I can't~~**

**Right now you're sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. Probably the latter. And I'm sitting in the main room on the floor completely naked, because this planet is so hellishly hot that clothes are totally useless. And I'd rather be naked. Right now, just after we've ~~made love~~ ~~fucked each other senseless~~ "expletived", I'd rather be naked. I can still feel your hands on me. And your mouth.**

**~~I love you so much~~**

**My heart is beating incredibly fast. I can feel it thumping. And I'm sweaty and tired and I could really use a shower, to be honest, and also I'm hungry and there are only ratpacks to eat, and we need to save them for breakfast. And I've never in my life been so happy.**

**I hope you find this after I leave. I'm going to hide it. That way I can leave a little piece of myself here, so I can pretend a bit of me is still here with you. That's maudlin. I can hear you saying it's maudlin. I don't care and I'm not going to strike it out. I'm not striking anything else out.**

**I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you **

**I could just write that over and over forever. I can't stop smiling. My fingers tremble. Look at that: look at that "t". It's hardly a "t" at all. You'll scold me when you translate this. You won’t even be able to read it.**

**I know all this is chemical. I know there's nothing mystical or magical about it. I understand, intellectually, exactly what physical and hormonal changes make a Human feel as if they're in love. And none of it matters, because I love you, I LOVE YOU.**

**I wonder what happens physiologically when a Cardassian falls in love? No data on it, of course. I imagine you'd rather keep that hidden. You as a culture, I mean. But probably also you as a person. I've never seen you in love. I've seen you care, I've seen you be affectionate, and I've seen you be loving, but I've never seen you madly in love.**

**I have now, I think. The way you looked at me. Maybe it was that horrible drink, but I've never seen you smile like that. Your eyes shine, do you know that? Maudlin again, but I don't care: you're gorgeous, and I think I could look at you forever. Your hair is so soft and dark, and I adore the little baroque scales around your nostrils that**

**I must be in love. Or drunk. Or both. I just wrote that I adore your nostrils.**

**I think I'd better close this off right now before I make you ill.**

**I love you, I love you, I love you.**

**Yours,**  
**Julian**

Folded into it: a small, dark, rather sweaty lock of hair.

 


	22. Chapter 22

_so, alone into the cold new year without another word from her_   
_i wrote to ask if we could maybe meet again before the spring?_

***

**From: J. Bashir—Sent: Stardate 54308.4—Subject: The furtherance of our work**

**My very dear Mister Garak,**

**Well, that was indeed a productive visit. I believe I am not alone in feeling that a true meeting of the minds was solidly arranged. I’ve given due consideration to your counter-arguments regarding the possibility of a new story for Tozen and Siv’rie, and feel that your suggestion of co-writing a sequel to The Movement of Wings is an interesting proposal.**

**To begin, I’d suggest some sort of scheduling arrangement. I feel our best work is done when head-to-head, so to speak. We manage by mail, yes, but your arguments seem to be much more persuasive in person, and I feel that this is an important factor in the success of any continuation of our work. I realize that there are limits on the amount of free time available to you, and I am certain that you realize the CMO of a space station is always on duty; still, I am certain that if we put our heads together, we can hammer something out.**

**Other factors to consider at length which will most certainly require an in-person meeting include:**

**1\. the remarkable colour of your eyes**

**2\. the way your hair curls around my finger when I tug at it**

**3\. the surprising softness of the scaling that wraps your shoulderblades and fades down your upper arms**

**4\. the lack of softness of the scaling on your jaw, not at all minded**

**5\. your sharp teeth, sharp mind, sharp tongue**

**6\. the riveting effect of all of these combined in one man**

**7\. the fact that these details were apparently hidden from me for far too long**

**8\. the urgency with which I wish to make up for lost time.**

**As you can see, this agenda is far too complex to be handled by mail, or even face-to-face communiqué. Please respond at your earliest convenience to advise me of your schedule, so that I may free up some time to continue this extremely important work.**

**Cordially yours,**

**Julian Bashir**

*****SENT COURTESY OF PLANETHOP TRANSPORT MESSAGING SERVICE — TRANSPORT FIVE — CURRENTLY ORBITING CARDASSIA PRIME*****

*****PLANETHOP HI-SPEED MESSAGING: FOR WHEN IT JUST CAN’T WAIT!*****

*****MESSAGING SERVICE ALWAYS AVAILABLE AT A REASONABLE CHARGE*****

*****(FEDERATION MEMBERS MUST PROVIDE AUTHORIZATION CHIT)*****

*****REMEMBER, PLANETHOP NEVER STOPS!*****


	23. Chapter 23

**From: J. Bashir -- Sent: Stardate 54312.6 -- Subject: Decisions**

**My very, very dear Elim Garak,**

**I'm home. I'm sitting in my quarters, looking around at all my things, and here is something I'm realizing: I don't need any of them. The days I've spent with you have taught me that. Here's something else: I'm very seriously considering chucking all of this and going straight back to Cardassia. Or, more accurately, to you.**

**What do you think? I know it probably seems like a spur of the moment decision, but there is precedent. This kind of thing happens when one's a medical officer with a particular expertise: remember my stay with the Teplan, for one example. Sabbaticals are available, too. And I'd hardly be shirking my duty. It's not as if I haven't served out my original term. Eight years now: that's a pretty good stretch. Besides, I know how to treat Cardassians. Or, at least, you. No matter what you might have me believe, your internals have got to be fairly similar to those of your fellows. I could be of aid, don't you think? I could save lives. Nowhere as damaged as your planet is right now could possibly have enough doctors. Perhaps I could be the one that turns the tide. What do you think? Dr. Bashir to the rescue?**

**I don't want to push. This isn't exactly the same as requesting slightly bigger quarters, is it, and God knows moving to Cardassia after one meeting is probably exactly the wrong thing to do! It's a very, very silly thought, totally irresponsible, isn't it?**

**It's just that I'm so in love with you, so very much in love, and I miss you already. We both fit fairly well into your little bed. Or I'll sleep on the floor if that's an issue. And I'll get authorization for my own water and rations. It can't be hard; I'll just show them what I can do and they'll be glad to have me. Perhaps we'll even get a higher grade of quarters. Or not, and that would be fine too. All that kind of thing works itself out when two people are in love. And I do love you, and you love me. Let me not to the marriage of two minds admit impediments, right?**

**Just say the word, all right? I'll wait on your mail. I won't unpack. Just say the word.**

**All my love,**

**Julian**

Attached is an image of Julian's hand, pressed to the imager. The fingers are together, the palm flat. In a scrawl: **I love you! --J**


	24. Chapter 24

**From: J. Bashir -- Sent: Stardate 54342.8 -- Subject: The madness has cleared**

**My very dear Mr. Garak,**

**You'll be relieved to know that I have unpacked my things, after all.**

**I'd like to apologize for the brief burst of madness upon my return. I think I may have gotten a bit carried away. Certainly I've done so before, but I was hoping perhaps to be a bit less obvious with you. Oh, well; so much for that idea. Still, I am really very sorry for inflicting that on you. Not very subtle of me at all. I'll try to do better.**

**Also, I want to apologize for suggesting Cardassia can't take care of her own. It wasn't at all what I meant to say. Mea culpa. I just thought perhaps I could be of service. I didn't mean to cause offense, and I'm sorry if I did.**

**Now that I've abased myself, I suppose I'd better bring you up to speed on the last few weeks. I can tell you that they have been the longest two weeks of my life. Dull, dull, dull. Not a thing new under the sun. Or stars, I suppose.**

**Oh, I've kept myself busy with the usual this and that. There wasn't an urgent patient backlog to deal with on my return, which was nice, but there was a great deal of paperwork. It isn't my favourite thing, but I'm good at it. Getting all that sorted out took a few days. After that, Semna and I booked in a few surgeries that she wanted my input on, and also restarted our weekly research review. We've pulled in Dr. Hullulluulu and Dr. M'rtk'xc as well -- and here's something nice: Dr. M'rtk'xc has turned out to be a bit of a dab hand at racquetball! I'd never have guessed it: Hamalki look so delicate. Then again, I suppose I know better: that silicon-based chitin of theirs is pretty tough, and glass spiders are considerably more difficult to shatter than their name suggests. He can take a direct hit much better than I can, certainly, and he doesn't bruise afterwards. He just chimes irascibly and then beats me three games in a row. So that's taking up time, which is nice.**

**I've also continued my reading. I haven't anyone to chat with about it right now, but that seems no reason to drop my pursuit of Cardassian literature. It seems the author of The Movement of Wings has written quite a few other short novels! I'm sure you're aware of this, and I'm a bit surprised you didn't tell me so! Then again, we didn't busy ourselves much with literary criticism when we met. I'm certain you meant to bring it up and you simply forgot. I shan't hold it against you. At any rate, I'm very much enjoying Kettles on the Boil \-- I chose it because it was long-ish -- and I look forward to discussing it with you.**

**I must admit, though, it's no Tozen and Siv'rie.**

**I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you. You must be busy there: lots of catching-up to do since my visit, I imagine, as I did take up a great deal of your time, not that I regret it particularly. I had hoped there'd be a letter waiting for me when I got back to the station. Oh, well, I can be patient. Don't laugh, I actually can, despite how I may have come off in the last couple of letters. I'll sit on my hands and hum a cheerful tune and busy myself. All will marvel at my sudden increase in productivity.**

**How fare the Dunes? You never did take me to see them. In fairness, I didn't give you time. I'd appreciate an update: are they still green?**

**Well, all that up there looks good. Fairly professional and all that sort of thing. Befitting of two dignified, adult people in a dignified, adult relationship, don't you think?**

**Now here's the soppy bit, because I can't hold out any longer. I'll be better about it this time, I promise, but you may still want to brace yourself:**

**I miss you terribly. **

**I thought I missed you before, back when this was just all letters and innuendo. Oh, I had no idea.**

**I miss you, Elim, my Elim. I miss you, I miss you. I miss having you here to talk to. I miss not having you here, and writing letters instead so I can see the console light up with your name. I miss being with you in a too-small bed in a too-hot room, talking nonsense with you, just inhaling you. I miss you.**

**I wish you were here now. I want to be with you, real and solid. I want to press my hand to yours while I kiss your brow, kiss you right on that rough bit just at the corner of your eye that makes you smile. I want to press up against you, all of me against all of you, and wrap my legs around you and scratch my nails over your back so that they catch in your scales. I want to expletive with you, long and slow and then hard and fast and then both all over again, and then afterwards I want to sit with you and talk about everything and nothing until we want to expletive again. I want to do the most terribly saccharine romantic things with you, all the things that new lovers get to do and we don't, and this is no doubt making you roll your eyes at me. You can't mind too much, though. You know how I get. You've seen it enough times. You don't get to complain now that it's aimed at you.**

**I love you and you're not here and I wish you were, and I ache with it. I'm fully aware that this is ridiculous. That said:** **I hope I can see you again soon. Could it please be soon?**

**Please write as soon as you can. I may not survive if you don't.**

**Yours, yours, yours,**

**Julian**

Attached: an image, apparently self-taken, of Julian Bashir holding a steaming mug and wearing a look of rueful amusement. Scrawled in the corner:

**Elim -- you were right all along. It's cold on this station. I'm drinking redleaf tea now for two reasons: one, it's warm, and two, I like to think it tastes like you. Will you let me compare when I see you again? Always yours--J**


	25. Chapter 25

**From: J. Bashir -- Sent: Stardate 54412.8 -- Subject: Patience is a virtue**

**My dear Mr. Garak,**

**I hope all's going well on Cardassia! You must be tremendously busy, as I still haven't heard from you. Are you still involved in food distribution? I recall that was a twelve-day on, one-day off sort of thing. Cardassia has a similar rotational period to Bajor, if I recall correctly, and so that means you've had about three and a half work cycles so far. Only three days off! You must be tired! I hope you can find a spare moment to write soon.**

**Lacking your regular updates, I've instead taken to following Cardassian news reports, both the Federation-sponsored and the much rarer Cardassian or non-aligned broadcasts. Things seem to be going well--at least they do to my untrained eye. I pay particularly close attention to Cardassia City and the surrounding regions. I follow the health news, mostly; I do try to keep up with the politics, but without you to explain it for me, it's just a mess of Gul Whosit and Minister Whatsit. I'm on firmer ground with health.**

**It looks as if everyone is more or less getting fed, although I think the numbers dip quite a bit lower than I'd like in the capital itself. Everyone there is working, after all. They need more calories, not just the bare minimum. The distribution of food is fair, certainly, but I worry. When I saw you, you were thinner, and yes, you may have liked it, but Garak, I could count your ventral ribs. Please do keep eating. I worry about you. **

**But there's nothing I can do to help you except brood, and that doesn't help much at all, does it.**

**Sometimes I worry that you've been hurt, or that you've gotten ill, and that's why you aren't writing. It couldn't be anything else, certainly. I haven't changed my mind about you. I can't imagine that you'd change your mind about me. You said you loved me, after all. I saw it in your smile. It was true. **

**I'm fairly certain you haven't gotten hurt. I know you can take care of yourself. True, I've had to patch you up a few times when your mouth has gotten you into trouble, but I trust that you're clever enough not to get yourself into that kind of trouble in such an unstable situation. Anything could happen, you know, and where would you be then? And where would I be then? You're mine now, Elim Garak. Keep yourself safe. **

**You'll probably be pleased to know that I've kept reading. Kettles on the Boil has taken an unexpectedly dark turn. I hadn't anticipated the protagonist's aunt's betrayal. I do wish I could talk to you about it, though, because I have a sneaking feeling it's supposed to be funny, and it really isn't striking me that way at all. Sometimes I think I'm never quite going to understand Cardassian humour. You help with that. You explain the joke. That doesn't make it any funnier, of course, but at least then I can understand what's going on. **

**I find I can't think of much else to tell you. It's hard to keep a conversation going when it's just one, isn't it?**

**I miss you. Very, very much. Write back to me, and I'll tell you more.**

**All my love,**

**Julian**

Attached is an aerial shot of a cityscape, and near it, rolling hills that stretch for kilometres. There appears to be a great deal of new construction in and around the city. Central parts of the city are flattened, nothing but gray rubble. Around the city, red sands go on almost forever; the hills, however, are green. A note in the corner reads: **Visual evidence from the latest Federation report: the dunes are green. I love you. --J**


	26. Chapter 26

**From: J. Bashir--Sent: Stardate 54483.4 --Subject: Where are you?**

**Garak,**

**I've now gone from being concerned about you to being, frankly, angry. Where are you? Why aren't you writing?**

**As far as I can tell, there are two possibilities: one, you don't want to write to me anymore because you've changed your mind about us. I don't even want to write that sentence down. That's awful. But it's much better than the second possibility, which is that you've been hurt or imprisoned, and that is terrifying. And I don't even know which is which!**

**I've set up a search flag for your name, in various permutations: E. Garak, Elim Garak, Elim G., etc. At first I used simply "Garak," and I'm sure you think that's very funny. I had no idea Garak was such a common name. The search flag was completely useless until I made a few modifications, based purely on guesswork and hope: location within 250 kilometres of Cardassia City, male, an age range, and alive.**

**Oh, God, I hope you're alive.**

**They say all anger is rooted in fear. I don't know if you'd agree or not, but it seems to be holding true for me. I'm furious with you because I'm terrified for you. Where are you? **

**"Unnecessary" travel to Cardassia Prime is currently interdicted because of the food riots. This doesn't feel unnecessary to me, but I can't seem to find anyone else who agrees. No transport, no cargo ship, no unaligned personal vessel for God's sake--no one wants to go anywhere near Cardassia Prime. I can't even stow away on a food transport. There's no way to get to you, and it's driving me mad because I need to come find you, laughable as that idea probably is: who can find Elim Garak when he doesn't want to be found?**

**I don't care if you want to be found, because I'm damned well going to find you. The second the interdictions are lifted, I'm coming. I'm going to make sure you're well, and if you aren't, I'm going to make you well, because I want some answers and you are going to give them to me. **

** What happened? **

**Why won't you tell me what I've done wrong?**

**I'm so angry at you, and I'm so afraid for you. I'm terrified that you're dead. I don't want you to be dead. I want you to be alive.**

**You're probably laughing at me. You're not dead. How could you be dead? No, you're alive, and you're laughing at the naive Human doctor who still hasn't learned how to stop caring when it's more convenient not to.**

**I love you. Please be alive.**

**Still yours,**

**Julian**

_Nothing attached._


	27. Chapter 27

His fingertips hurt. Well, that was new. _I wonder if there'll be a bruise._

But it had felt good to bang that letter out, it had felt really good to smack **SEND** with the flat of his hand. It felt better than sitting here helpless with blurry eyes.

_Which I am still doing._

He ran a hand over his face, squeezed briefly.

_I can't catch hold of anything—_

No, no, moping did not help, he'd proved this amply to his own dissatisfaction over the last two-and-some-odd months. What helped was getting up promptly at 06:45, taking a high-setting sonic that made his teeth vibrate, scrubbing out his mouth and depilating with vigour, all the while listening for the _ping_ of the name search, running every ten minutes and proudly announcing each failure _._

Fifteen minutes of ablutions and _ping_ later, he stared at himself in the mirror, pink-cheeked and red-eyed.

_God, I am pathetic._

Was he stupid? _Am I delusional?_ But he hadn't imagined everything, he hadn't, he had the letters and he could recite them by heart and this was unproductive, _ping,_ so off to the replicator for a scone and then out the door to the infirmary.

Rij smiled at him when he walked in, he smiled back, and then there were things to _do_ and that was _very_ good, because they needed all of his brain. No room left to worry at things. No _ping_ here either: not allowed, not by him, not by Rij. Instead: cut, suture, probe, biopsy, _fix_ things, _do_ things, actually _accomplish_ something. It felt good, and he was good at it. And everyone there knew well enough not to ask how he was doing anymore, so that was good too.

Afterwards, there could be a drink at Quark's, except there'd probably be someone who'd ask him how he was doing; instead, solo racquetball because M’rtk’xc was busy, and that was good because he could move at his own too-fast pace and sweat and ache all over and tire himself out quite thoroughly. After that it was completely understandable that he'd head back to his quarters instead of finding company — who would, dripping with sweat? — and once back in his quarters he could shower — a nice, long, _long_ shower, two _pings_ at least — and then sit on the sofa and brood, _ping,_ without anyone giving him any kind of trouble about it.

Reading was good. Why not read, while keeping one ear out for the _ping_ , constantly popping up its little mantra of **0 results**? Indeed, why not read and munch? Those were both excellent at taking one's mind off of useless preoccupations, and if one eventually realized hours had gone by and had apparently involved the consumption of six scones, well, that was all right. No need to make supper. Instead, a scan of the news services, and perhaps an attempt to refine the search based entirely on what minor truths he might have gleaned from a notorious liar over some years of acquaintance, and then immediately afterward a slightly panicked resetting to default so that he wouldn't miss anything. Better too wide a net than too narrow, better to catch any sign at all that he might be needed, might be—

_Stop it, Julian. Go to bed._

And that was a very good idea indeed, so into pyjamas he went, _ping,_ and then to clean his teeth, _ping,_ and it might be acceptable to take a book to bed, _ping,_ which one? Nothing Cardassian this time. Perhaps something Miles had sent him, _ping,_ one of those slightly horrible detective novels, _ping—_

"Shut up," he said aloud, and then realized that he was talking to a machine.

_Wait._

That hadn't been nearly ten minutes. That hadn't even been five—

He was at the terminal in seconds—

**5 results. Display in order?**

Oh, God—

**Refreshing** **… 9 results. Display in order?**

But—all at once—some kind of error?

**Refreshing** **… 27 results. Display in order?**

No, the parameters were good, this was real, this was—

**Refreshing** **… 92 results. Display in order?**

How could one wait for months for an answer and then not be ready when it came?

**Refreshing** **… 268 results. Display in order?**

It took him two fumbling attempts to successfully press **YES.**


	28. Chapter 28

" **REVEALED:** the face behind the mask? New Ministerial appointment surprises all—"

"—is older than he appears, or so say those who claim to know him. His past is a confusion of tales, but this reporter promises to reveal all she can, even if—"

"—pointed the finger squarely at the Department of Distribution. Minister Susov is accused of failure to equitably distribute goods, but the new Minister of Accountability recommends patience. 'We need to dig deeper,' he said today to a crowd of supporters outside the Central Plaza. 'We can't place blame just yet, as much as we might enjoy doing so. There are always others filching scraps from the table—'"

"—appointed last week in complete secrecy, which has now been unveiled to the eyes of the people. This station has been following this story closely, because we know that you, our loyal patriot, demand the very best from us, just as Cardassia demands the best from us all. Honesty is our best policy, and we tell you now that the man newly appointed as the Minister of Accountability, Elim Garak, has been seen many times near the Central Plaza over the past few months. A street vendor who preferred to remain anonymous tells us that he has many times been visited by Elim Garak, who purchases one ikri bun. What does this preference for street food tell us about our new minister? For this, we turn to State Psychoanalyst Choʂ Ambut. Choʂ, what do—"

"—family name is very common, but this station is tirelessly searching for relatives. We're currently speaking to a man from Uges who believes he may be a fourth-cousin-mother-side to the Minister. He has five children, three girls and two boys, and works as a furniture-upholsterer. His family line can be traced to—"

"—uncertain what this new appointment will bring to the table. The function of maintaining accountability has always fallen mostly to the now-eliminated Obsidian Order, but their methods of ensuring that distribution was kept equitable produced more fear than the inequitable distribution did. Many chose not to report; others who reported later regretted it. How can this Minister do better? Indeed, some say he himself was associated with the Order, although these are only rumours, and this channel does not endorse—"

"—unmarried, swimlings, and we all know what _that_ means: _stories!_ Mama promises to keep you updated on the very latest happenings with this fresh new catch in the Capital! Can you imagine how much fun we'll have when the bubbles start to churn? My personal bet is that he'll have a new date for every event—the Minister of Accountability can't play favourites! What fun, swimlings! Now, follow Mama Fish and she'll make sure every little bit of news is fed to you on the hour every hour, fresh and tasty! Next up: electric blue? On _you?_ Could be, swimling—"

"—refused entrance to the new Minister's office by Ministerial Security. When asked why this Minister required such an increase in security, we were told by the security representative, Muvala Wen, that this is common practice for all new ministerial appointments. New-truth, citizens? When Minister DerGes was appointed six months ago, an interview was provided immediately to this station. We will see whether new-truth holds out when the next Minister is appointed. Turning now to other news, we go—"

"—can a man with no children represent the people? How can a man who has not tied himself into the Union by blood be expected to understand the importance of his job? He's still a child himself, and I don't believe he'll represent the interests of those mature enough to have taken on the responsibility of rearing the future! Don't forget Efra Sos—only eighty years ago—"

"—expense account irregularities were discovered in the accounts of Ministers Xevoc and gaChi. Details are not available at this time. However, we will continue updating as we learn more. The Ministers have both stepped down for 'personal reasons'. The Circle of Ministers has issued a bulletin advising that there will be no interruption to required services, as replacements for these ministers have already been selected. Appointment dates have not yet been specified. This station is here for you, loyal citizen. Remember, we are the only State-approved channel in this band. Trust us: our truth tastes true. Next, a discussion of the food distribution issues—"

"'—calming the riots is the appointment of the new Minister of Accountability, who has already issued orders replacing several key personnel in the Department of Distribution. YestU Huo, First Citizen of the Concerned Citizenry, Kardasi'or Branch, is cautiously approving. We go now to YestU. YestU?'

'Oh—are we on?'

'We are, YestU; you're speaking to Kardasi'or.'

'That's—thank you for this opportunity. I speak for the Concerned Citizenry. We tentatively approve of this new appointment. Minister Garak has already reached out to our group and has assured us that food will be more easily available. However, we will withhold our full approval until we see true action taken. It is unfair to expect the common Cardassian to rebuild Kardasi'or on an empty stomach, and the previous Ministry suggestion to 'stop spreading rumours of food shortages' did nothing to address the fact that people were forced to forage through rubble for food. When the replicators stop working at past-noon due to power cuts in outlying districts, what does a citizen do when her work shift stops at six? Take from others? She is due a provision from the government, she is due what she is owed, and she—'

'Citizen YestU, we appreciate your passion, but if you could please stay on the topic—'

'I will be heard! Minister Garak, your words are lovely, but they don't fill bellies! Unless we are fed, we will return to the streets—'

'It looks like we have a disruption of signal. We apologize to our viewers. Now, our Minute for Meditation, provided today by the poet Chen ChoU—'"

"—from our pockets, citizens! The State asks for us to give our all, but for what? So that Ministers can fatten themselves on the food meant for the poorest among us? So that lifters meant to clean the streets can be used to dig a private _pool?_ I say well done to Minister Garak, well done, and with his help I hope the lies will stop—"

_A political cartoon: a roomful of nondescript robed Ministers, all leaning slightly away from another figure, a slightly chubby Cardassian male, dressed in grey from top to toe, emerging from a shadowed corner of the room. His eyes are the only spot of colour in the image: bright blue. His finger is waggling. Caption: "Naughty, naughty_ _…"_


	29. Chapter 29

Sleep had been long forgotten. His back ached. He'd been hunched over his terminal for hours, but he couldn't stop. There'd been nothing but drought for so long, drought and fear and anger and frustration, and now that there was a flow of information, he couldn't stop drinking.

_Oh, God, I think I'm going to drown—_

Garak, suddenly everywhere. Garak's face, Garak's eyes, Garak's smile, his customer service smile, bright and friendly. Not gaunt. Not anymore. Instead: trimmed hair, oiled and sleek. Round cheeks. Hands moving as he spoke, too fast to see if the nails were trimmed. Soft grey suit, flattering him, broadening his shoulders. Proper shoes. No more ratty sandals for the Minister of Accountability.

He froze on an image, a still-frame from a video: Garak looking sideways at a woman introducing him, smiling slightly, hands at his sides.

_You bastard. You bastard._

There was nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

_Where have you been?_

Something had changed, oh, yes, but nothing like Julian had imagined. No Garak in a hospital bed. No Garak dead in an alley, his funeral attended only by pickpockets. Instead…

_Oh, you bastard._

He ran his hands up into his hair, gripped, squeezed his eyes shut.

The very worst thing was that there was a part of himself that would have much preferred the hospital bed. Not the alley. Never that. But the bed…

_I could fix that._

This… was there even anything to fix?

 _It does explain a great deal, though, doesn't it,_ said a little voice inside his head. _What would a Cardassian politician want with an offworld lover? Awkward. Limiting. Too bad_ _…_

Goddamned xenophobic culture—no, not fair, not fair to Garak or to himself, but—

_I don't know what to do!_

He restarted the video, let it play, half-listening.

 

_"—the Minister is pleased to speak to you today. Already he's made great strides towards helping the good people at the Central Plaza live up to the expectations that you, the Cardassian people, demand and deserve. May I present Minister Elim Garak—"_

_—polite applause, the knocking of knuckles on padds, on briefcases—_

_"—thank you. Thank you. Please_ _… thank you. I'm delighted to be here before you, and appreciate very much the support I've already received. May I say that the volume of communiqués I have received is quite overwhelming. It is so very good to be surrounded by those who expect the very best from Cardassia. I've always felt this way myself, and it has truly saddened me that so many times in the recent past, those who've been chosen to lead us have let us all down. Yes, I've said it. I don't like it any more than you do, but we all know it's true, don't we. We've all seen the choices our leaders have made. We've seen the spiral downwards into self-indulgence, into overconfidence—we've seen how good people become twisted by the pressures on them, by the chance to take just a little more than is offered._

_"My dear friends, I'm here to stop that. I'm here to make it so much easier. For you, the people; for the Ministers who are placed under such terrible pressures; for those offworld who want to help us, and yet see their good intentions come to naught. Let me assure you that I'm here to help. I've heard things said that, frankly, sadden me: that I'm here to hurt people, hunt people down. That my job is a front for my true intent: to uproot the social structures that have worked so well, to eliminate the benefits that are due to Ministers for their heavy load. None of that is true, I assure you, and I will work every day to prove to you that this is so._

_"I can't promise you immediate results. I can't promise you a perfect tomorrow. But I can promise you a_ better _tomorrow, even though it may be only incrementally so. I can promise you that every proposal that crosses my desk will be attended to personally. I can promise you that every proposal brought forth by my colleagues the Ministers will require my  complete and wholehearted approval before even the smallest fraction of it is begun. I can promise that the people you are trusting to care for you will do so, will take only what they are offered, will reach for no more than they are given. I can promise that the things we do here at the Central Plaza will be for you, Cardassia, instead of for ourselves._

_"We've become confused, haven't we. There have been so many changes over the past years, and none of them are the choices we as Cardassians would have made for ourselves. It's understandable that some of us have begun to lie to ourselves—to tell ourselves that if the Universe won't provide for us, then we had best provide for ourselves. Those are comforting lies, lies that seem to have no consequence. But those lies lead us to take food from the mouths of our brothers and sisters, to use our labour for personal frivolity instead of to support our Union. Those lies separate us into weak individuals, defenseless, when we could instead be strong together, each of us supporting the other, together in the greater truth of Cardassia._

_"My dear friends: isn't it time to stop the lies?"_

Julian became faintly aware that he was biting his knuckle. Had, perhaps, been doing so for some time. At least as long as Garak had been turned towards the camera, smiling slightly, hands spread wide: the plain and simple politician.

An officious young man was now addressing the cameras, hands raised, and Garak… just wasn't there anymore. No, wait: in the background, out of focus, a door closing.

 

 _"—the minister is not available for personal interviews—yes, far too busy—no, he won't—yes, I promise—if you'll all stop shouting! Thank you. Thank you. I promise the minister will respond to all messages sent to his office. If he is not personally available to respond, a member of his staff will do so. Each member has been personally selected by the Minister. Their profiles are available in the central database. Yes, they can also be reached individually—no, they are not available for interviews at this time—their families? Perhaps, but I really can't speak to—no, I'm not certain if Minister Garak is related to anyone—no, I'm_ not _certain if he was affiliated with Damar—now if there's going to be reckless speculation, this question period will end—may I ask you—"_

And that was more than enough of that.

An absence of sound hung in the air after the viewer was turned off, a faint keening that might have been in his ears, might have been in his brain.

_Well, Julian? Now what?_

He breathed out.

There certainly didn't seem to be a lot of options on offer.

 _Ah?_  murmured his mind, mocking, laughing, well-remembered. _And now you stop at what's offered to you? There may be hope for you yet..._

He sat, and thought, and watched the stars as the night wore on, air currents drifting against his skin as the station breathed.


	30. Chapter 30

**From: J. Bashir, MD — Subject: Immediate response required — Sent: Stardate 54484.3**

**ATTENTION: Minister of Accountability Elim Garak**

**Gracious Minister,**

**Your immediate response is requested on a matter of extreme importance which has been unattended for some time. Please respond at your earliest convenience to resume discussion. Otherwise the issue is in grave danger of being tabled.**

**Sincerely,**

**Julian Bashir, MD**

*******

**From: Accountability Office c/o Central Plaza, Kardasi'or site**

**Subject: Communication received**

**Sent: Stardate 54485.3**

**Be advised that your communication has been received and discarded unread.**

**At this time, the office of the Minister of Accountability is not responding to general off-world communication. If your message is related to Federation interests, please resubmit through the appropriate channel.**

**This policy may be revised in future. Consult the information feeds for more details.**

**This message is computer-generated. Do not reply.**


	31. Chapter 31

**From: Lieutenant Julian Bashir, MD, CMO Deep Space 9, Bajor Sector, Alpha Quadrant Wormhole Access Point**

**Sent: Stardate 54643.1**

**Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Immediate communication with the Minister of Accountability required**

**Secretary Nuril,**

**I have been referred to you by Assistant Secretary Orlo, who was referred to me by Sub-Assistant Secretary Vitalak, who was referred to me by Correspondence Head UlThe.**

**I have been trying to contact the Minister of Accountability since stardate 54484 on Federation business. Your Minister of Accountability has lived in the Federation in the past, as is, I believe, now common knowledge on Cardassia Prime. We now need to contact him. The details of the situation are need-to-know.**

**I've been moved up through the bureaucratic ranks achingly slowly, and with each delay imposed by your office, the situation becomes more critical.**

**I realize that your Minister is very busy with matters on Cardassia Prime, but the Federation does not typically appreciate being ignored.**

**Any assistance you can provide would be appreciated, and will not be forgotten.**

**With thanks,**

**Lieutenant Julian Bashir, MD**

*******

**From: Secretary Nuril AThame, Accountability Office, Central Plaza, Kardasi'or Site**

**Sent: Stardate 54651.5**

**Subject: Your request to contact the Minister of Accountability**

**Lieutenant Bashir,**

**The Minister of Accountability is a very busy person. The job of his secretaries is to weed out unnecessary communication. Otherwise he would be flooded with requests for unimportant minutiae. He does not have the time or the inclination to deal with such minutiae. Nor do any secretaries above the first level. Nor, especially, do I.**

**And yet here is your communication in my inbox.**

**How you have convinced my subordinates to refer you to me is a mystery I will soon investigate. For now, you wanted me, and you have me.**

**Here is what I have learned about you from your communications:**

**You will not reveal the details of your request, despite communicating via a Federation-authorized channel. You are the only Federation officer to request communication with our office, aside from the standard pleasantries the Federation offers to all new Ministers, and this does not suggest great urgency on the part of the Federation to speak to us. In fact, this is not surprising, as there is no reason for the Federation to communicate with the Minister, since he is responsible only for disposition and distribution of Cardassian resources to Cardassian citizens. **

**Put simply, you have no business speaking to the Minister, and he has no business speaking to you.**

**That said: you persist.**

**This wastes my time and does not improve my temper.**

**Dr. Bashir, if you would like the Minister's ear, you will need to provide details. Failing this, there will be no further communication, and your superiors will be informed of your waste of the time and resources of this office.**

**Your health,**

**Secretary Nuril AThame**


	32. Chapter 32

**From: Lieutenant Julian Bashir, MD, CMO Deep Space 9, Bajor Sector, Alpha Quadrant Wormhole Access Point**

**Sent: Stardate 54660.1**

**Subject: My reasons for contacting your office**

**Secretary Nuril,**

**You are correct. The reason for my need to contact the Minister of Accountability is not strictly Federation business. It is more personal. That said, I cannot be more detailed without betraying a confidence.**

**The business I need to discuss with the Minister follows from a visit I made to Cardassia Prime from stardates 54299 to 54306. You can verify the details with Prime Spacedock 9 and with Swift Shuttles.**

**During this visit, the Minister, who was not yet the Minister, discussed future plans with me. We have a project only half-started, and now that his station in life has changed, I need to know whether I should abandon this project and conserve resources, or attempt to continue our work.**

**A last note: today is my birthday. The Minister has, in the past, offered greetings on my birthday each year for as long as we've known each other. He's told me many times how important age is to Cardassians, how birthdays must be honoured. I would be interested to know your thoughts on the matter as well. Then again, there is a Human saying: "Actions speak louder than words."**

**I realize that this communication does not satisfy your list of requests. I apologize for this. Please feel free to discuss the matter with my superior. She is Colonel Kira Nerys, commander of Deep Space 9, formerly of the Bajoran Militia, now of Starfleet. I'm sure she'll be very receptive to any complaints of wasted time.**

**Sincerely,**

**Lieutenant Julian Bashir, MD**

*******

**From: Secretary Nuril AThame, Accountability Office, Central Plaza, Kardasi'or Site**

**Sent: Stardate 54661.5**

**Subject: Ongoing communications**

**Lieutenant Bashir,**

**Despite my extremely busy schedule, I found time to verify your travel details. In future, consider supplying such records yourself.**

**The details you have finally provided make the situation much more clear.**

**I am somehow unsurprised that you are the reason my work crew was down a member while we cleared debris in the Nine Hexes. As team leader, I found Elim Garak to be extremely useful. He had both a keen mind and a strong back. It's hard to find both in anyone, let alone a male. Be advised that the crew struggled without him, and I, personally, was extremely inconvenienced. You seem to be very good at inconveniencing me, Dr. Bashir.**

**That said, Garak's humour was much improved when he returned to work after his time away, as was his productivity and willingness to comply. I noted this at the time, with a mind to assigning him further rest days should he prove intractable in future.**

**The situation that he and I both find ourselves in now is not that different from our previous placement on debris detail. We are simply moving a different kind of material. And, just as before, he is much more productive when in good humour, and much easier to manage.**

**I will pass along your message.**

**Happy birthday, Dr. Bashir. May someone, somewhere, celebrate your continued existence.**

**Your health,**

**Secretary Nuril AThame**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like a few more details regarding Nuril's trying experiences with Garak, check out [To Say Good Morning And Really Mean It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2328170)!


	33. Chapter 33

_but weeks went by with no reply_  
_until once more my birthday came, and with it my surprise –_  
_but this time nothing was the same_  


_"i'm sorry, blame infatuation, blame imagination –_  
_i was sure you'd be the one, but i was wrong_  
_it seems reality destroys our dreams, but I won't forget you – blossom"_  
_faded red inside a tiny book of old goodbyes…_

_* * *_

**From: Minister of Accountability Elim Garak, Accountability Office, Central Plaza, Kardasi'or Site**

**Sent: Stardate 54669.5**

**Subject: Happy belated birthday**

**Dear Doctor Bashir,**

**Please accept my apologies for my late reply, and for my belated birthday wishes. I do hope your day went well. Please find attached a gift. I hope its lateness does not sour its sweetness.**

**I must admit to some surprise at seeing the number of communications you've had with our office. Secretary Nuril presented them to me in a sort of heap, lumped into my inbox and flagged Urgent. You've certainly gotten her attention. I'd almost say she's quite taken with you.**

**Please understand that I did not receive any of these communications until Nuril brought them to my attention. It would be unforgivably rude to ignore the requests of a colleague with whom one is working on a project, and I did not knowingly do so. That said, I do wish to apologize once again. You must have been extremely frustrated. I would have thought you'd have moved on to another project by now. How flattering to know that our work has so held your interest.**

**Rest assured you have not missed any communications from me. I no longer use my original communications account, and its contents have been archived. One of the more interesting nuances of the newly-created position of Minister of Accountability is that all communications from this office are available to the public, and when I was offered the position, I was advised that for a time I would not be permitted private communications. A part of proving oneself trustworthy, it seems. I was happy to accede; of course I have nothing to hide.**

**My dear doctor, I regret to tell you that I must put aside our project for now. I did enjoy working with you. You're a quick and clever partner, full of youthful enthusiasm and faith that all obstacles can be surmounted, and it is a joy to collaborate on any type of project with someone like that. I had thought that this would be a project that I could truly devote myself to. Life, however, had other ideas.**

**You are, clearly, familiar with how my situation has changed on Cardassia. My office is newly-created, and it must be successful. Cardassia cannot be diverted from her regrowth. There is no room for one person to indulge in pleasures at the expense of others, and I cannot properly pursue two projects at once, especially when both are of such importance. Cardassia has trusted me with ensuring that she blooms again, and I will give my life to the task, Doctor. I can't find it in my heart to regret this, or to wish that things had worked out differently. I am needed, and my efforts are directly benefiting Cardassia. It is, quite clearly, what I've always wanted. Who would I be to ask for more?**

**Allow me to explain that I will not discuss our project further via this channel. I wouldn't want to make our private work public. I do hope you understand.**

**That said, I do hope we can maintain a correspondence. Caring for Cardassia is fulfilling, but very busy, and sometimes lonely. I haven't had time to visit the Dunes in months, well before your last visit; although I am assured they are still green and will remain so, I do miss them. Seeing them at a distance simply isn't the same. In the same way, although I can no longer continue our project, I believe the demands of my work would permit the occasional letter now and then. And it would please me to know that you're doing well.**

**My apologies once again, and my very best wishes for your continued good health,**

**Elim Garak, Minister of Accountability**

**_Attached: a file, which when accessed proves to be a book. It's a light thing, something for amusing oneself on a dull afternoon, or for showing to a friend to make them laugh. Ways to Say Goodbye is the title, and it is a collection of short stories about people who find themselves in a situation they didn't expect. Some are unhappy, some are delighted; in all cases, it can't last; in all cases, they leave, and the ways they do so are inventive and funny. It's a book to leave one smiling. In the author's picture, she is winking._ **


	34. Chapter 34

A letter, half-started, cursor blinking:

**From: J. Bashir — Sent: Stardate 54670.1 — Subject: You were right**

**Dear Ezri,**

**You told me. I didn't listen.**

**I really seem to believe that I live in a story: that at any moment, the Glorious Romance of Julian Bashir will begin, and I'll be swept up in Mad Love that Lasts Forever. I must believe that, otherwise I wouldn't keep doing exactly the same thing. It's the same thing I did to you, even the same thing I did to Leeta: I fall in love with someone, and I don't expect them to ever change.**

**But people change, don't they? Or their circumstances do. And they want different things. And one can either accept those changes or be left behind. Sometimes one isn't given the chance to accept. Sometimes one's just left behind.**

**I can't believe that he just doesn't want me.**

**Well, that isn't fair. Perhaps it's all this he doesn't want to go on with. You were right: long-distance is hard. Perhaps that's too much.**

**Although it's not like him not to say so, is it?**

**I can't seem to figure this out.**

**I feel very maudlin. I'm sorry to burden you with it.**

**I suppose I want someone to commiserate with. I know what you'll say, though, and no doubt by the time your reply gets to me, though, I'll have presciently taken your advice and found someone new. Chin up, right? Move on with a smile, that's your motto, and it really should be mine. Enjoy being friends, and go on having learned from things, and that's**

**no no it's NONSENSE!!!!!!**

*** * ***

**From: J. Bashir, MD — Subject: Notification — Sent: Stardate 54670.2**

**ATTENTION: Minister of Accountability Elim Garak**

**Gracious Minister,**

**You have lied to me in the past, but you've always had the courtesy to do it to my face.**

**Public office seems to have removed this courtesy.**

**I confess I am surprised at this. I thought courtesy was innate to you. Perhaps public office on Kardasia requires the removal of courtesy.**

**Regardless, be advised that I will be providing you the opportunity to be courteous, at least one more time.**

**Regards,**

**Julian Bashir**

*** * ***

**From: Accountability Office c/o Central Plaza, Kardasi'or site**

**Subject: AUTOSENT — Communication rejected**

**Sent: Stardate 54671.1**

**Be advised that your communication has been received and discarded unread.**

**This sending address has been flagged for private use of public resources.**

**All further communications will be discarded.**

**This message is computer-generated. Do not reply.**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the slight re-working, friends; as the late Terry Pratchett said, the author reserves the right to have a Better Idea.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [on the horizon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684407) by [Cân Cennau (cancennau)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancennau/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau)




End file.
